


Spiders

by AwatereJones



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, Horror, No Smut, Spiders, Suspense, zomboids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 46
Words: 57,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7999555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwatereJones/pseuds/AwatereJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alt verse ... something comes to earth and spiders have the ability to control people like Invasion of the Body Snatchers with a twist. </p><p> </p><p>It is not a true control and each person infected with a Hitchhiker or "Hitcher" is going insane. </p><p> </p><p>No smut, no romance, this is just HORROR all the way. Rated for violence and language</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

From a distance, the tiny object made its way serenely and gracefully toward the Earth kilometres below. It was canister shaped, metallic. Sunlight that had yet to find its way to the surface of the planet glinted off it.

It looked like a shooting star moving at its own leisurely pace.

Up close, of course, it was a different story. The canister thrummed and glowed as it forced penetration of the atmosphere, the sudden friction of the descent causing a build up of energy that poured off it like fire.

Far above the clouds that blotted out the dark land below, the canister trembled like a living creature as the wind buffeted it, shrieking around its terminal velocity as though enraged at the intrusion.

Up close, the descent was a thing of howling, relentless violence.

The night side of the Earth loomed below, curved at first, gradually flattening out as the canister approached, filling the horizon in all directions.

The canister-shaped object was not self aware.

There was no moment of self congratulation as it headed straight for the target, the journey from space to ground unwavering. Perhaps even if the canister had a mind it would have realised that there was nothing particularly impressive about its precise journey.

Nothing unique.

For in the distance, invisible at this range, other canisters were falling.

.

.

.

.

.

**8:47 AM**

It's Tuesday morning.

Eight-forty-five-ish.

Thereabouts.

We're stuck in traffic on the way to school.

Again.

Every day I say we need to start leaving earlier.

Every day we don't quite get around to it.

The car is hot, even with the windows rolled all the way down.

Horns blast all the way down Clare Road.

It's the heat, the damn heat.

We're not used to it here.

It makes people crazy.

Even the air-conditioning has given up the ghost.

The hot air it blasts at me when I switch it on feels like laughter in my face.

At least the kids are quiet.

Carian's deep into some handheld video game. He's got that fire in his eyes that only comes out when he's shooting video people in the head.

Breannah's reading, even though reading in the car usually makes her throw up.

"You sure that's a good idea, honey?" I ask. "Don't want you blowing chunks before you get to school."

"It's OK, I only get sick if the car's actually moving," she says without looking up, and I can't really argue with that.

Don't even know how long we've been sitting here.

Longer than usual, and there's no sign of the traffic even starting to move.

I straighten my arms and push myself back in my seat, trying to fend off the back cramps before they can start.

It turns into a stretch, which leads on to a yawn.

That's what I get for staying up late and shooting people in the head.

Still, it was a gratifying experience. I can see why Carian's so hooked.

There's a movement in the car, just below my line of sight. I look down at my lap, and that's when I see it.

That's when I see the spider.

It's dark and shiny. And big. Real big. About the size of my phone, maybe a little bigger still. It's on my thigh, right by the steering wheel. Even through my trousers I can feel its gangly legs _trip-trapping_ against my skin.

I gotta admit, insects aren't really my strong point.

I don't like them. In fact, I loathe the creepy-crawly little bastards.

My natural instinct is to bash them on sight with whatever happens to be closest to hand.

But I'm not bothered by this one.

I gaze down at it and get the distinct feeling that it's gazing back up.

But I'm not afraid.

Not a bit.

There's no revulsion, no disgust, no urge to smash it with my fist.

The spider is just there, but in my head it's like it has always been there, right there on my lap.

Gazing up.

Nothing for me to worry about.

I blink and it vanishes.

There one second, gone the next.

I don't know how, exactly, but I guess it must be inside me, because first I can feel it, then I start to hear it.

Chattering. Whispering. Telling me to do things. Terrible things.

To my kids.

I watch them in the rear view mirror, clicking buttons, flipping pages.

 _Click-click, flip-flip_.

They don't look up, don't acknowledge me.

Drive them this damn road every day and they never acknowledge me.

I watch them in the mirror, and the spider keeps whispering softly in my head.

A car horn blasts.

The woman in the 4x4 behind me points angrily ahead. The traffic is on the move. I grip the wheel and grit my teeth and lurch us as quickly as I can towards the school.

I turn the radio up loud. The kids complain, but the spider stays quiet.

I can still feel it though, wriggling around inside me.

My hands shake all the way to the front gate. I brake hard and the seatbelt goes tight across my chest.

"Steady," Breannah says, sounding just like her mother.

"Go or you'll be late," I tell them. Have to get them out of the car. Have to get them away. They gather their bags and I wave them goodbye. No kisses. Not today.

The spider won't let me.

I watch them walk – not run, why don't they run?

Other kids swarm in the doors beside them.

I keep watching until they're all inside.

Keep watching until long after all the other parents have left.

I move to drive away, but then I hear the spider begin to whisper again, its voice soft but urgent in my brain. It tells me my children are careless. Tells me they've forgotten something. Tells me I should bring it to them.

The door beside me opens.

Was that me?

I try to fight, to resist, but then I'm standing on the sidewalk, and my feet are taking me to the back of the car.

The boot opens with a _squeak_.

There's not much in there.

A couple of scrunched up carrier bags, a sunhat I bought in January and have only worn once.

My eyes fall on the tire iron. I look at it for a long time, listening to the spider as it squirms and whispers, whispers and squirms.

 _This is good,_ it says. _These are the things a good daddy does_.

The iron is heavy in my hand, the pitted metal rough against my skin. There's a _clunk_ as the boot closes, although I don't remember doing it.

 _Now bring it to them_ , the spider says, and its squirming makes my face go hot and my insides itch.

 _Bring it to them, and show them what we do to careless little children_.

So I bring it. And I show them.

God forgive me, I show them.

.

.

.

.

.

Tosh is drinking her coffee with a soft sigh as she watches Owen storm across the hub, Gwen obviously about to be on the receiving end of a tirade.

The screen lights up as Mainframe starts opening multiple screens showing emergency service callouts.

Tosh starts to read and her blood runs cold.

She is yelling for Jack before Owen gets to Gwen.


	2. that call you don't want to take

**7:42 PM**

There is a woman on television and she is looking at me and she is a whore.

She says words I do not like to hear. They give me the bad feeling and make me itch on the inside until I cannot listen to them anymore. I press the switch and the television goes dark and the room goes dark, but I know she is still there, inside the television, looking at me and speaking words I do not like to hear.

I get up from the chair and do not look at the television and walk four steps to the window. The window is dirty on the outside but clean on the inside. Outside is the street. It is dark, like the television is dark.

There is a woman on the street and she is laughing at me and she is a whore, like the woman on the television is a whore.

Like _all_ of them are whores.

I shout at the woman on the street but she does not look up. I shout until she has walked all the way along the street, past the blue door and the red door and the door I do not like to look at. I shout until my throat hurts, but the woman who was just right there on the street is not there anymore.

I walk four steps to the chair and press the switch and the television is no longer dark. The woman is back looking at me and smiling now, _smiling now_ , _smiling now_.

Her name is written on the screen in large white letters on a dark blue background.

Her name is written exactly like this: Sharon Madison.

Sharon Madison is a whore.

And whores must be punished.

Andy Davidson hovered just inside the yellow and black tape, doing his best to keep out of everyone's way. The cold was seeping into him, jabbing at his kidneys and grabbing at his balls.

He was thinking about his old school careers advisor, wishing he would traipse round the corner now, so he could punch him right in the fucking face.

 _Join the polis, Andy. You'll_ like _the polis. Being in the polis is_ magic _._

Oh aye. Magic.

"What a fucking night."

" _Christ_ ," Davidson yelped, head whipping round. DCI Swanson stood on the other side of the tape, hands in her pockets, eyes on the guys in the white paper suits.

The street light above her turned her face into a landscape of shadowy craters. _Big Boobed Swanson, wi' a face like the moon._

"Not quite." Swanson's eyes left the paper suits and went to the two sheets lying side by side, a few feet apart on the ground, two someone-sized lumps beneath them.

"What we got?"

"It's a belter, this one, ma'am. Way, way out of my league." He blew out his cheeks.

"Don't know where to start, really."

She waited patiently for him to elaborate.

"Aye, well it's been a night of belters for some of us, Detective Inspector. Half of Cardiff's leathering seven shades of shite out of the other half. The whole city's gone mental." Andy huffed, "Hear about that business with the school? Dad and his two kids."

Swanson nodded grimly. "Drugs. Bet it's drugs. But this is getting us nowhere. Who's our victim?"

"Right, well, we're actually doing all right there, as it happens." Davidson fumbled open his notebook, his hands shaking - only partly from the cold. "Young lady. Just turned twenty-four this month, according to her driving license."

"Name?"

Davidson angled the book towards the light and tried to decipher his own scratchy scrawl. "Sharon," he announced. "Madison. Sharon Madison."

For the first time since arriving on scene, the Chief Inspector looked his way. "What... the Yank bird? Off the telly?"

A pause. A pointless glance at the notebook. "Um... I don't... I don't know."

"Aye you do," Swanson said, eyebrows meeting in the middle. "Blonde haired piece. Does the weather. Pretty wee thing."

She rocked back and forth on her heels. "Probably no' any more, mind you."

"Aye, well, you can say that again." Davidson scribbled in his pad. ' _Weather;_ " he said, his pen scratching the word onto the paper. "I'll get someone looking into it."

"What about the other one?"

"Other one?"

"The other victim."

"What other victim?"

A slab of a hand emerged from a pocket. A manicured finger jabbed past the guys in the white paper suits. " _That_ other victim."

Davidson blinked.

"For fuck's sake. The sheet. The other sheet."

"Oh, right, the other... aye, sorry, ma'am, it's been a long... The other sheet." Davidson shook his head. "No," he said. "That's her, too."

"What? What are you—?"

"That's the thing, sir… ma'am, She's been, uh... She's been cut in half."

The eyebrows crawled halfway up Swanson's forehead. Air whistled through her teeth. "Aye? Jesus. That's a new one. What's top and what's bottom?"

"No, that's not what I... It's not..." Davidson sighed and then gave up trying to find the words. He raised a hand and pointed instead, first to one sheet, then the other.

"Left half. Right half."

Swanson didn't say anything at first, just stopped rocking on her heels, slipped her other hand out of her pocket, clenched her jaw then let it relax.

Even when she did speak, almost half a minute later, it wasn't anything worth writing home about.

"Bollocks."

"Funny," said Davidson, not smiling. "That's what I said."

"That's not possible. No way. No way that's possible."

"Apparently it is, Ma'am," Davidson told her, with the look of someone who'd seen first-hand precisely how possible it was. "And, well, you see, the thing is..."

Swanson turned to him. "What?"

Davidson looked across to the sheets, both of them washing-powder white. "The cut in half thing?" he said. "That's not even the weirdest bit."

She frowned as she knew what that meant.

She pulled out her phone and checked for the message that she knew would be waiting politely in her in-box.

**Incoming Message**

**Ianto Jones**

**Torchwood**


	3. dread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/vdycpyrfz/) [](https://postimage.org/)

**11:51 PM**

It wasn't until Andy Davidson was back in his flat, two-thirds of the way through a shower, shit and a shave, that his hands started to shake. It started as a quivering at first; a light tremble that rose quickly to a full-scale shudder.

He didn't remember lying down on the bathroom floor or curling up in a ball with the knees of his tartan pyjamas pulled right up to his chest. He didn't remember crying either. Crying like he hadn't done in years, not since Geoff Tavers had kicked him in the gonads and nicked his pen back in Primary Five.

But he remembered Sharon Madison.

He knew he would always remember Sharon Madison, no matter how hard he tried to forget.

Christ, if he closed his eyes, he could still see her.

Two halves, each one scooped clean of everything that should've been inside.

Just two pale-skinned hollows with not a spot of blood or a trace of innards to be found.

He'd taken Captain Harkness over to the sheets and the paper suits had lifted first one, then the other. Swanson had stared for a while, as if trying to figure out what she was looking at then looking at Captain Harkness who shrugged. Then he'd turned to Davidson, clapped him on the shoulder, and told him to call it a night.

It was, Davidson reckoned, the first act of compassion he'd ever seen the Captain make, and he could almost have kissed the big bastard for it.

Davidson got up off the floor and brushed himself down.

He decided not to shave, in case he found a way to split his wrists with the safety blade. It was that sort of night.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror, all red-eyed and pasty-faced.

"Aye, looking good Andy," he muttered, before returning to the living room, where he'd left every one of the lights blazing.

As he flopped down onto the couch, he knew something was different.

Something had subtly changed in the room.

He couldn't see what it was, but he could feel it niggling away at him.

The TV was off, the lights were on. It looked just as he'd left it before going through to the bathroom.

And yet…

His eyes fell on the curtains.

Closed.

Did he draw them when he came in?

He couldn't remember. The flat was on the fourth floor, so sometimes he didn't bother shutting them, but tonight…? He couldn't remember.

He stood up. His eyes went to the door as he contemplated doing a runner, but he forced his gaze back to the window.

He was a Detective in the all-new Heddlu. Running away from his own curtains wasn't something he could allow himself to entertain, no matter how tempting it may be. He crept towards the window and the floorboards gave a sudden creak.

Davidson gasped.

 _Bastards_.

They hadn't creaked before, had they? They'd picked a fine bloody night to start.

The curtains were thick and heavy, designed to keep out the cold and the sound of the city below.

Davidson steeled himself then gave one a quick flick. He found himself making a sound – a sort of angry yelp designed to drive off invaders, but which came out sounding like a strangled sob.

The curtain billowed briefly back and forth, then settled to a stop.

Davidson drew them both carefully back and peeked in behind.

He jumped back in fright at the sight of the wild-eyed figure hiding there, before realising it was his own reflection in the glass.

"Christ Almighty," he whispered, the relief coming out as a half-laugh. He let the curtains fall back. Just before they closed, a shape plunged from the top of the window to the bottom.

Davidson blinked. Had that happened? It had looked like… no. Surely not.

He swished the curtains apart and stepped in closer to the glass, trying to look down at the distant ground below. Whatever had fallen had landed too close to the building for him to see it.

The latch _squeaked_ in protest as he turned it and pushed the window outwards. It opened to about forty-five degrees before the safety locks caught hold and prevented it going any wider.

Davidson leaned out. He had only glimpsed it for a second, but the thing that had fallen had looked like a man. The window looked out over the back of the flats, where there was nothing in the way of street lighting. He stared into the shadowy blackness that hugged the ground and tried to make out what—

A sound like thunder shattered the window above his head, spraying him with shards of broken glass. Davidson fell back into the flat, hands held in front of his face, blood already seeping down the back of his neck.

He looked up at the window, the frame now twisted out of shape. A man's arm and head dangled limply through the smashed pane, eyes open, skull caved in on one side.

Two bare legs hung down at an impossible angle behind them, like the force of the impact had snapped the poor bastard all the way in half.

As Davidson watched, gravity grabbed at the corpse.

The legs pulled down, showing a glimpse of bare arse. The head vanished upwards through the mangled frame. The arm went last, flopping to and fro as if waving goodbye, then the whole bloody mess slipped off the window and tumbled out of sight.

.

.

.

.

**11:58 PM**

Jack dropped into his chair, spun away from his cluttered desk and gazed out over the hub.

What the Hell was happening out there tonight?

The screen in front of him showed Cardiff's CCTV cameras like little tiles of activity.

He could see the flashing blues of the fire engines heading out, although they could just as easily be the lights of his own team, rushing off to deal with whatever new blister of madness had just burst open somewhere.

Jack squeezed the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes.

He hadn't seen anything like them since that spate of 'devil dog' attacks back on his Time Agent days.

Poor bastards.

And then there was Sharon Madison. He wasn't even counting her in with the rest of the murders yet. He wasn't sure _what_ that was.

There was a soft knock and his door creaked open.

"Unit again, sir," said a worried voice. "They want to—?"

"Tell them to away and get fucked!"

There was a moment of hesitation, and then the door clicked closed again.

Jack sighed as he realised Ianto needed an apology now or there would be the 'no Speakies' later, let alone 'No Boom-boom'.

Jack took out his mobile and redialled the last number.

It rang and rang until the voicemail eventually kicked in.

Jack drummed his fingers on the desktop impatiently, listening to the message drone on.

"Davidson!" he barked, the moment he heard the _beep_. "Where the fuck are you? I told you to go home, not vanish off the face of the Earth. Phone me back."

He hung up and slammed the phone down on the desk with more force than he meant to, scattering a tower of paperwork that had been in danger of toppling over ever since he'd set foot in the room.

He gathered the files up, shuffling them roughly into a lop-sided stack. Assault, arson, rioting, rape … the top few files alone read like a psychopath's Bucket List.

Only they'd caught some of the people in the act, and they weren't psychos.

They had no priors, no history of trouble. They were just normal folk.

At least, they had been.

Something had happened to them.

Something that had turned normal folk off the street into the mindless animals that were banged up in the cells downstairs.

Even the Weevils didn't like them.

Jack had a bad feeling about this one.


	4. holding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/ha2hhkk8f/) [](https://postimage.org/)

Jack was watching the screen.

The orange glow was brighter now.

Tiny flames licked the night sky on the horizon.

The fire was spreading.

But that was someone else's problem. Thank Christ. He had his own stuff to sort out.

He called Davidson for the umpteenth time, waited as long as the voicemail, and then hung up without leaving a message.

The door opened again.

"I said to tell them to fuck off," Jack boomed.

"Told them sir. They didn't. But it's not that."

Jack squinted at the man in the impeccable suit.

"What now?"

"They've found another one, sir."

"Another body?"

"Another Sharon Madison. Two of them, actually."

Jack stood up. "How d'you mean? Cut in half?"

Ianto nodded. "Top to bottom."

Jack sat down.

"Fuck," he said, and then he stood up again. "Fuck! A serial killer alien?"

"Actually, no. Don't think so, sir," said Ianto as he handed him a sheet of paper. "Not unless he can fly."

Jack stared down at the page.

It was a printout from the BBC News website with a photo of some uniformed types all gathered around a couple of white sheets. He tried to read the article, but one word kept rearing up at him.

"Egypt?"

"And there's this one," Ianto continued. He passed him another printout. He read it in silence.

"I can't even pronounce that," he said at last. "Where is it? Wales?"

"Thailand, sir."

Jack lowered himself onto his desk.

The stack of paperwork slid off it and onto the floor.

"Same as Sharon Madison, sir. Sliced top to toe, organs missing, the works," Ianto said. He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, then changed his mind again all in the space of a second. "What do you think it is?"

Jack carefully folded the sheets and slipped them into his inside pocket.

"Bad news, Ianto," he said. "Get on the phone, will you? Get Davidson in here."

"I'll try, sir. Phone's playing up," Ianto said and he headed for the door.

"And don't tell anyone about this."

Ianto paused in the doorway. "Apart from the readers of the BBC website, you mean, sir?"

Jack twitched. "Fuck. Yeah. Apart from them."

The door closed.

Jack was halfway through gathering up the tower of paperwork when it opened again. He straightened up, knocking the back of his head on the underside of the desk.

"Ow! Christ. What now?"

"Swanson's on the phone, sir," Ianto said "And Unit really wants to talk to you."

"Tell Unit to get fucked. And tell that Swanson…" Jack thought for a moment. "Tell her to get fucked an' all."

Ianto nodded. "Right, sir."

He moved to go.

"Don't actually tell her that," Jack said. "Tell her I'll phone her back."

"Right," Ianto looked agitated and unsure. No wonder with the world crumbling around them. "And Unit?"

"Actually tell them to get fucked," Jack said. "Literally say those words."

"Right, sir. Will do, sir."

Ianto had barely shuffled off when another face appeared.

"Gwen. Thank fuck. Talk to me about ..."

"We've got him, Jack" she said, cutting him short.

Jack nudged the toppled tower of papers with his boot. "Which one?"

"Sharon Madison. The bastard that did it. Heddlu 'ave got him."

"You sure it's him?"

Ianto nodded as he entered behind her. "Oh it's him. He's confessed. In writing."

"In writing?"

"Yes Jack." Ianto shifted uncomfortably in his polished shoes. "More or less."

.

.

.

.

.

**12:01 AM**

Davidson lay there.

For a long time he just lay there on the carpet, the wind whistling through the broken window, his blood staining the neck of his pyjamas.

There was numbness in his chest, like the aftermath of an electric shock. His heart was no longer in there, it was up around his ears, surging the blood through his veins with a _whump-whump-whump_.

A breeze moved the curtains towards him and he scrambled back, jolting from his daze. He leapt to his feet and frantically looked around.

The phone.

Where was the—

Aha! He pounced on the handset like a tiger, snatching it up and stabbing three nines. He listened to the faint hiss of static as lines clicked together in an exchange somewhere.

"Come on," he muttered, his eyes fixed on the window frame. "Come on."

There was a click from down the line, followed by a series of short rising beeps.

"Sorry," chimed a polite female voice in his ear. "The number you have dialled has not been recognized. Please replace the handset and try again. You have not been charged for this call."

Davidson pulled the phone from his ear and looked at the display.

Three LED number nines stood shoulder to shoulder on the screen.

He hit the button to hang up and dialled again. This time there was no delay before the beeps. "Sorry. The number you have dialled has not been recognized…"

"Fucking thing!" Davidson yelped.

He hung up and dialled the station.

He shifted anxiously from foot to foot while he waited for the ringing.

It never came.

There were no beeps or recorded messages this time, just a hiss and a click and a continuous flat tone.

"Fuck!"

Davidson tossed the phone onto the couch and glared at it with contempt. He hurried through to the bedroom where he'd abandoned his clothes in a pile and fumbled through his trouser pockets until he found his mobile.

He pressed the top button and tapped his pin number on the screen.

The phone unlocked and a message flashed up telling him he had missed calls.

Twenty-seven of them.

Davidson's stomach knotted as he swiped through the list.

Harkness, Harkness, the station, Harkness.

There were a few others, too.

His mother (twice).

His sister in Edinburgh (four times).

Two random numbers he didn't recognize and a _Caller Withheld._

Mostly, though the screen was flooded with Harkness.

With a few taps he called the number back. He held his breath and waited.

The cold breeze from the living room swirled into the bedroom and Davidson shivered in his thin pyjamas.

There was no sound from the phone.

He checked the screen, which still claimed to be _Dialing Number_.

It was taking it's time about it.

Keeping the phone to his ear, Davidson slipped off his pyjama bottoms and pulled on the discarded trousers. He'd tossed his boxers in the washing basket and the others were piled up with the other clothes on the couch. He'd have to go commando for now. It was, he reckoned, the least of his problems.

He fumbled with the button and held the phone in the crook of his neck as he carefully zipped up the fly. Wriggling his bare feet into his shoes he checked the screen again.

Still dialling.


	5. get a grip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/eu14n3j3j/) [](https://postimage.org/)

There was a streak of red across the phone's plastic screen guard.

Davidson felt the back of his neck, saw the blood on his fingers and spat out a curse.

There was a half empty box of tissues within easy reach of the bed. He tugged one out and pressed it to his nape.

He checked the screen again.

It insisted it was dialling, but he was beginning to have grave fucking doubts.

He returned the handset to his ear again, just in time for a garbled screech to come blasting out of the earpiece.

He hissed sharply, yanking the phone away.

The noise kept coming, screaming and squealing like a dial-up modem, growing louder and more frenetic with each second that passed.

Davidson jabbed the icon to hang up, but the din didn't stop. It was the same sound his old ZX Spectrum used to make as it tried – and inevitably failed – to load a cassette, only this one wasn't stopping.

The call had been ended.

The screen was back showing the list of missed calls. But the noise kept coming.

"Shut up," he muttered, tapping the screen and jabbing at the buttons to try to mute the racket. "Shut up!"

In the olden days, of course, you could have just yanked out the battery, but that was before some fucking bright spark had decided the battery should be sealed up.

No matter what Davidson tried, the screeching didn't stop.

He resorted to shaking the phone vigorously and slapping his hand against the screen, but neither one made any difference.

With a cry of frustration he rammed the handset under his mattress, muting the din if not silencing it.

He left the bedroom and pulled the door closed, dulling the noise further. His eyes fell on the broken window and he stared, as if seeing it for the first time. The body was gone, but he could still picture it there.

A man.

No, a teenager, he thought.

Eyes open, mouth slack, brain oozing out of the hole in his mangled skull.

Davidson shook his head, trying to push the image away. He checked the tissue.

There was blood, but not too much, thankfully.

The initial shock was beginning to fade, and the first few rational thoughts came creeping in. He'd seen definitely one possibly two bodies come plunging past his window. Or into his window in one case.

It was only now that what should probably have been his first question reared its head.

Where had they come from?

Slowly – ever so slowly – Andy Davidson's eyes went to the ceiling.

.

.

.

.

**The Flat Above**

**16 MINUTES EARLIER**

"Aye, but I like you. I really like you. I've fancied you for ages. And you like me, don't you?"

Perched on the edge of her bed, Cheryse nodded.

"Well then. What's the problem?"

Cheryse lifted her head to look at the boy beside her.

Lenny smiled.

He had a nice smile. It was mischievous yet somehow honest at the same time, and made his dark eyes crinkle to narrow slits. He was seventeen – two years older than she was – and she still couldn't believe he was interested in her. _Her_!

"You trust me, don't you?" Lenny asked. He made a move to stand up. "Because if you don't I'd better—"

"Don't go," Cheryse said. The pleading tone in her voice surprised her. But then again, not really. Half the girls in school fancied Lenny, and if he walked out the door she had a feeling he'd never be back.

The bed groaned as he sat down beside her, close in so his leg was touching hers.

She hesitated, chewing her lip and then rested her head on his shoulder. They didn't talk, just sat there listening to the tinny tones of Ed Sheeran struggling from the speaker of Lenny's phone, and the _creak creak creak_ of the bed next door.

"Sounds like someone's having fun," Lenny whispered, his breath hot against Cheryse's neck.

She giggled nervously.

Samuel, Lenny's friend was in the room next door with a girl in Cheryse's year. Ashleigh something or other. Cheryse didn't know her well. She was one of the quiet girls who hung out in the library every break time.

At least she was normally quiet. Now… not so much. She yelped in time with every creak, a high-pitched yap of pleasure or pain or something in between.

"She sounds like a monkey," Lenny said. He scratched himself under the armpits. "Ooh, ooh, ooh!"

Cheryse lifted her head and laughed.

She turned to Lenny, and first his eyes then his lips met hers. He felt warm against her.

She shivered as his fingertips traced the contours of her back through her t-shirt, and as they brushed against her bra strap she felt her blood bloom up her neck, making her face go red.

The strap tightened a fraction, then went loose as Lenny unclipped it through the thin cotton top. His lips brushed more firmly against hers, and she felt the tip of his tongue explore her mouth.

He twisted towards her, using his weight to gently guide her down onto the bed.

She squirmed as he turned her head away and began to nuzzle at her neck. Her fingers gripped her Star Warsduvet and scrunched it tightly.

The button of her jeans loosened with a pop and Lenny's hand thrust down inside, his gentle touch becoming more forceful. Through the wall, the headboard began to thud against the wall and Ashleigh-something's yelps were drowned out by Samuel's breathless grunts.

"Wait," Cheryse said. She caught Lenny's wrist. "Stop. My mum and dad."

Lenny drew back. "They're in Spain."

"I know but… I promised them I wouldn't... That nothing would..."

"They'll never know," Lenny insisted. He kicked off his shoes and wriggled out of his jeans, never once removing his hand from Cheryse's.

He leaned into kiss her again, but she shied away.

Lenny yanked his hand free and frowned at it, rubbing it like it had hurt him all of a sudden.

"Jesus," he snapped. "What are you, fucking twelve? I thought you said you were grown up? You're a wee kid."

"I'm not."

"Well quit fucking acting like it, then," Lenny said, all softness gone from his voice. He pushed down his boxers and stepped closer.

"Put it in your mouth," he urged.

Cheryse shook her head and quickly turned away. Her eyes burned.

She dug her fingernails into her palms and chewed on her lip. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't cry.

"Fuck's sake," Lenny barked. He kicked her desk, knocking over the laptop he'd first contacted her on. "Give me my phone, I'm phoning Ella."

Cheryse watched him snatch up the phone and shut up Ed Sheeran. She kept her gaze fixed on his top half, not letting it wander _down there_.

"Wh-who's Ella?"

"She's in my year. A fucking adult, no' a silly wee lassie. She knows the score."

He made a show of scrolling through his contact list.

Cheryse let out a shaky breath. "Was she your girlfriend?"

Lenny laughed. "Fuck me, you really are a kid, aren't you? _Was she your girlfriend?_ Get with the fucking program, sweetheart, eh?"

"Ow, stop!"

Ashleigh-something's voice was sharp and sudden through the wall. The headboard had stopped thumping, but Samuel's grunts came fast and loud, forming almost one continuous growl.

"Stop, Samuel, stop please!"

Cheryse stood up. Lenny blocked her path.

"Leave it," he said.

"But she's—"

"She's fine."

"Samuel, please. Jesus! You're… stop! _Stop_! Don't!"

"She's not fine," Cheryse said.

Lenny loomed over her.

"They're having fun," he said, looking her up and down with contempt. "At least someone knows how to."

Cheryse met his gaze and held it. Half the girls in school fancied him.

What were they thinking?

"Fuck you," she said, and she brought her knee up sharply between his legs. His breath exploded from his lungs in a short sharp gasp and he sort of melted down onto the floor, clutching his groin and wheezing.

Cheryse stepped over him.

She was halfway to her bedroom door when Ashleigh's screaming started. Not the pained protests she had been making, but full scale screams of panic.

"Ashleigh?" Cheryse shouted, racing into the narrow hallway. She made for the door to her parents' room where Ashleigh's screams had risen to fever pitch. "Ashleigh, are you—?"

The door exploded outwards, filling the flat with the sound of splintering wood.

A limp shape came hurtling through.

It hit the laminate flooring, bounced once, then slid to a stop by Cheryse's feet.

Ashleigh was dead.


	6. tell me about it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/84qgcppbj/) [](https://postimage.org/)

Ashleigh was dead.

That much was obvious, even to Cheryse. Her head hung at a right angle to her body, twisted so it was looking back over her naked shoulder.

Blood spurted like a fountain from a wound in her throat, spattering the walls and the floor. Cheryse felt its warmth spray like a mist across her face.

She pulled back, and that was when she saw Samuel.

He stood in her parents' bedroom, hunched over.

He was naked and, his bare skin slicked all over with smears of red. He was staring at his hands, his eyes wide, his fingers flexing in and out, in and out.

Cheryse let out a gasp and Samuel's gaze flicked in her direction. His brow furrowed and his face twisted into a snarl. He launched himself at her like a sprinter off the starting blocks, going from stationary to full speed in the blink of an eye.

Ducking into the living room, she slammed the door.

Samuel thudded against it from the other side.

Again.

Again.

The force of the impact shook the walls and Cheryse stumbled backwards as the door's hinges gave way with a crackling sound.

She turned, but there was nowhere to go, no other way out.

Samuel lumbered into the room, like he wasn't quite sure what he was doing there. The sight of Cheryse seemed to jog his memory, though. The face drew up into a snarl once more and he hurled himself towards her, arms reaching, fingers curled up like claws.

Cheryse grabbed the glass ashtray from the coffee table and swung.

It hit Samuel on the temple with a sickening _thonk_. He staggered, thrown off balance, purple-red blood already flooding his right eye.

It took just a second for him to recover.

He pounced, moving too quickly this time.

His fingernails dug into Cheryse's forehead and cheeks and his weight brought her crashing down, his naked body pinning her to the floor.

"S-stop!" she squealed.

A hand was drawn away.

She glanced up and his fist smashed against her face, splitting open her cheek and snapping her head to the left.

Samuel roared and spat like a demented animal, but the sudden rushing sound in her ears all but drowned him out. She coughed and a trickle of vomit spilled out onto the carpet.

The floor rolled beneath her like the deck of a boat, and shadows rushed in to fill her field of vision. The stink of Samuel's sweat flooded her nostrils and smothered her lungs as he pressed down on her. She could only sob as his thumbs pressed against her eye sockets and the darkness was replaced by a rainbow of swirling colours.

"What the fuck?"

 _Lenny_.

Samuel hissed and Cheryse felt his weight spring off her.

"Samuel? What are you—?"

There was a crash and a sharp yelp of pain. Cheryse dragged herself backwards across the carpet, the blaze of colour fading from her vision.

She saw Lenny swing a punch at Samuel. It cracked across his jaw, but Samuel didn't flinch. He caught Lenny by the hair and pulled back suddenly, bending him backwards.

Samuel's fist struck like a hammer in the middle of Lenny's face.

Once.

Twice.

Lenny's howl burst in a bubble of blood on his lips. He held up his arms to shield himself, but Samuel's teeth snapped down on his flesh, tearing free a chunk of skin and sinew.

With a triumphant cry, Samuel turned towards the window. He charged forwards, Lenny held in front of him like a toy.

"N-no!" Cheryse yelped, suddenly realising what was going to happen next. "No, no, don't!"

The window erupted outwards as Samuel forced Lenny backwards through the glass.

For one frantic fleeting moment Lenny seemed to hang there in space, his eyes wide, his face a mangled mess of blood and snot.

And then, like that, he was gone.

Samuel stood by the broken frame, his back to the room, chewing noisily on the chunk of meat in his mouth. Cheryse looked to the door on the other side of the room.

Could she make it?

Samuel seemed to have forgotten about her again.

Maybe if she was quiet…

Supporting herself on the wall, she stood up. The ashtray was still in her hand. She held it out like a shield and began to back towards the door.

Samuel stopped chewing.

He cocked his head, like a dog listening to some distant sound, and Cheryse knew in that moment she would never get away. He'd catch her before she even reached the hall.

There was only one choice left.

She closed the gap in four quick paces, the ashtray raised above her head.

Samuel spun, but by then she was swinging, bringing the heavy chunk of glass down, down, down with all her might.

It caught Samuel higher this time, just above where she'd hit him before. He buckled awkwardly, like a puppet whose strings had all been cut. His hands grasped limply at Cheryse, but she hammered down with the ashtray again.

Samuel stumbled. He hit the gaping wound where the window had been and for a heart-stopping moment just stood there, flailing his arms and trying to catch his balance, his teeth still chomping furiously on the chunk of meat in his mouth.

Cheryse let out a sob as Samuel seemed about to find his balance, but then he toppled past the point of no return, and fell screeching into the darkness.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**12:09 AM**

Davidson stared at the TV.

He pressed the channel up button on the remote. Rarely had the phrase 'Two hundred channels and nothing on' been quite so accurate.

The terrestrial stations were mostly showing test cards, with 'Please stand by' and variations thereof assuring him things would be back to normal shortly.

He'd almost let himself believe that, too.

Until he flicked over to Channel 4.

That was when he knew things were a long fucking way from normal.

Tony Hayes, the Channel 4 news anchor, was dead.

Davidson knew this because he was right there on the screen, half on a chair and half off, his white hair matted and pink with his own blood.

There was no sound from the studio.

Either the place was in silence or the audio had been cut. Davidson turned over to the ITV test card and back again, as if that would somehow force the image to refresh, but the anchorman was still dead when he flicked back.

Still lying there.

Still alone.

Still.

Silent.

Davidson pushed on through the other channels.

Channel 5 and Sky 1 had more test cards. He thumbed the channel up button again and almost sobbed with relief when a face – a living one – filled the screen.

The relief quickly faded when he recognized the face as a young David Jason.

It was an _Only Fools and Horses_ repeat. The one with the chandelier by the looks of things.

Davidson watched for a few lingering moments, almost allowing himself to believe things were fine. If Del Boy and Rodney weren't worried, then why should he be?

He shook his head and continued up through the channels. Those that were still broadcasting showed repeats. The others offered apologies for the break in service, and vowed to be back soon.

Davidson returned to Channel 4.

The station's logo now filled the screen. Below it were the words "We apologies for the break in programming."

"Fuck the break in programming," Davidson mumbled. "What about the break in the anchorman's head?"

He switched the TV off and the room went dark. The remote fell to the floor with a _clunk_ and Davidson puffed out his cheeks.

What now?

The landline was still dead. The mobile was still doing… whatever it was doing.

He'd eventually realized he could just switch it off, but when he'd switched it back on the screeching sound had started all over again, so he'd shut it down again sharpish.

With the phone down the internet was dead.

There was his police radio, but he'd left it in the car, and the car right now seemed an awfully long way away.

He should go get it, he knew. More than that, he should go get in the car and head to the station to find out what was going on.

Harkness would have his balls in a vice for missing all those calls, but Davidson didn't care. He'd gladly tighten the fucking thing himself if it meant not being sat there all alone in the dark with no idea what he should be—

There was a knock at the door. Davidson froze, suddenly regretting that last thought.

He liked being alone.

He _loved_ being alone.

But the knocking continued, soft at first, but quickly becoming sharper and more insistent.

He peeled himself off the couch. The door was locked and the chain was pulled across, but that didn't make him feel any safer. He picked up the chef's knife he'd taken from the block in the kitchen and held it low by his side, blade pointing forward ready to deliver a sudden upwards stab if required.

The knocking continued.

Softly, quietly, Davidson made for the door. Holding his breath, he slid the little brass cover away from the spy hole. It scratched against the wood and the knocking immediately stopped.

Heart pounding, Davidson leaned closer, putting his eyes to the spy hole.

He grimaced when he saw the figure on the other side, and rested his head against the door.

"Hey, I know you're in there," said the girl. Davidson recognized her as the daughter of the couple two floors up. Leona or Cheryse or something. "I can hear you breathing. Open up. Please."

With trembling hands, Davidson turned the lock, but kept the chain in place. He opened the door until the chain went tight. The girl stood shivering in the hallway, her clothes and face awash with blood.

"You're in the Heddlu, right?" she said. Davidson thought about denying it, but slowly nodded. Tears rolled down the girl's cheeks, cutting tracks through the crimson.

"Let me in," she said. "Something's happened."

Davidson looked back over his shoulder, first at TV then at the broken window with the curtains wafting in and out.

"Aye," he said, his voice little more than a dry croak. "You're telling me."


	7. hello starshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/mmkhmkulr/) [](https://postimage.org/)

4.37am.

One hour and twenty three precious minutes before she was due to resume her daily battle with the alarm.

Francine frowned, irritated.

She had learned long ago to have her last cup of tea in the evening no later than 10pm to avoid precisely these moments, yet even as she began to pull the covers aside she realised it was not her bladder that had awakened her.

She paused. What then?

When she turned over, she discovered one possible culprit. Her husband's side of the bed was empty. She frowned again.

Joe was resolutely _not_ a morning person, refusing even to set an alarm clock. Instead he relied on Francine to wake him at the last possible moment, giving him just enough time to rush to the shower, hastily chew on some cold toast, and rush out to the Docks.

When they were a little younger Francine had tried to break him of this habit, going as far as to question why it was that a man of God would be content to miss the small miracle that occurred each morning, as light crept over the horizon and the world began to wake up.

Joe's defence had been rock solid:

"God," he said, "got his work done and spent a full day in bed."

She let her head drop back onto the pillow. Joe, having never mastered the don't-drink-before-bed thing, had probably woken up to use the loo, waking her in the process.

He was a big man, and despite his best efforts, his movement made an impact.

Francine closed her eyes, hoping that the brief, unwanted trip into wakefulness hadn't quite alerted her senses, but she already knew it was futile. Her morning routine was off-kilter, and her mind had decided to wake itself up fully by way of protest.

 _Well_ , she thought, _might as well get the day started_.

She flicked the _off_ switch on the alarm clock, postponing the battle until tomorrow, and slid her feet out from under the covers into the cold air, relaxing when they found the soft material of her slippers, waiting at the side of the bed.

Stepping into them, Francine stood, wrapping her cold dressing gown around her, and padded out of the bedroom.

She expected to find the door at the end of the hall - the entrance to the bathroom - shut, with a thin sliver of light escaping around its edges. That was where Joe would be.

In thirty years of marriage, she hadn't known him to be anywhere else in the middle of the night, unless he was sick, in which case he would wrap himself in a duvet and relocate to the couch, aware that his coughing would disturb his wife's sleep.

The hallway was dark and empty.

Francine padded to the top of the stairs and peered down them.

The ground floor appeared unlit – if Joe had been struck by some illness, it must be a bad one, to have him sitting down there in the dark.

"Joe?" She called out softly. "You okay hun?"

No response.

Suddenly Francine felt strangely apprehensive and off balance. The stairs leading down into the darkness, stairs that she had walked for thirty years and more, which were as familiar to her as sunlight, now seemed oddly threatening and alien.

A dark, strange landscape, as though the house was informing her that things were different in the small hours; that she should not be here.

Francine was no fan of horror films.

Like Joe, she was mystified as to what enjoyment anyone could possibly get out of fear and violence. Why would anyone willingly spend time revelling in the darker, evil side of humanity? Still, she had caught the end of one on TV once and found herself reeled in, a clammy, breathless hour spent in the company of a young family living with some fearful malevolent spirit in their house.

The experience had shaken Francine, and for a while it had kept resurfacing whenever she found herself alone in the house, particularly at night. The silence, the emptiness was suddenly a breeding ground for something, alive with dark potential, and around each corner she expected to find some sign of a presence, all the more horrifying for being couched in the friendly familiarity of her little home.

The feeling had worn off of course; she had never seen any such thing, and eventually the memory of the movie had been worn away by time, but an echo of that feeling always remained, a faint feeling that the safety of the home could so easily be twisted by some unpleasant surprise.

She felt it now.

Why wasn't Joe answering?

The stairway light switch was at the bottom of the steps: a fact that had always been faintly irritating, but which now engulfed her in unchristian rage.

She'd have to descend in the darkness.

Setting her mouth in a firm line, reminding herself that movies weren't real, Francine began to descend, heart beating fast.

At the bottom of the stairs stood the front door, which neither Joe nor Francine ever really used, preferring the patio doors in the kitchen to the rear of the house.

To the right, hidden behind a corner, was the entrance to the living room. With each step she crept down, Francine kept her gaze focused more and more intently on this corner, half-expecting some dark shadow to move around it, a patch of blackness in the blackness, moving toward her almost invisibly.

She tried not to think about the possibility that someone was waiting around that corner, grinning, seeing their prey clearly framed by light from above, stepping toward them.

The feeling that something was wrong increased as Francine reached the last couple of steps, and it took her a moment to realise what was causing it.

The draught.

Francine could feel a cool breeze swirling around her bare calves. The back door was open. She swallowed painfully. As soon as she was able, still two steps away from the floor, Francine reached out into the darkness and found the light switch, flicking it on and almost crying out with relief when she saw the menacing shadows flee.

There was no evil presence lurking at the bottom of the stairs.

Turning the corner, she was able to see into the living room.

Dark and empty.

No, not dark. Not quite.

There was light spilling into the living room, a cold, lifeless light. Coming from the kitchen, no, _through_ the kitchen. Coming from the back garden. What on earth?

Francine stepped cautiously through the living room, shivering as the cold night air flooding into the house chilled her, and onto the freezing tiles of the kitchen floor.

The patio door was drawn fully back, revealing a sight that made her breath catch in her throat.

At the far end of the long, narrow garden, was a silhouette that was difficult to make out at first.

As Francine squinted, trying to make it out, and the shape became familiar. Joe, her husband, kneeling on the ground, his hands placed on something in the dirt, something cylindrical and metallic.

"Joe?" Francine whispered softly.

At the sound of her voice, she saw her husband rise to his feet, turning, and begin to move toward her.

Only when he was a few feet away could Francine really see his face, see the eyes bulging in their sockets, blood seeping from the tear ducts.

He was closer still when Francine understood that the man she had loved for over three decades, the gentle, kind man who had treated her like a queen intended to murder her.

So close that when he leapt toward her, snarling, strong fingers grasping for her neck, Francine didn't even have time to flinch.


	8. Jack and swanson look into it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/btn38apyn/) [](https://postimage.org/)

**12:16 AM**

Howls and screams and the damp thudding of flesh against metal echoed out from behind the cell doors as Swanson and Jack made their way along the corridor following a sergeant.

"It's this one," the sergeant said, stopping at one of the gun-grey doors.

Jack looked the door up and down, as if it'd tell him something about the person inside. "Open it up."

"I wouldn't, sir," said the sergeant. "That's not… It's not a… I wouldn't."

"Another lively one, is he? I think I can handle it. Open it up."

"It's not even that, sir. He's quieter than some of the others. It's just…"

"It's just what?"

The sergeant reached past him and slid open the metal shutter that covered the door's small window. He backed away without a word, making room for Jack to approach the glass.

The figure in there was short and skinny and naked as the day he was born. His hair was lank and matted in places, non-existent in others where someone – him, presumably – had torn it out by the handful.

He stood in the corner of the cell, back flat against one wall, right shoulder pressed to the other. His eyes were fixed on the window, staring at Swanson, unblinking. There were scars across his forehead, down his cheek and onto his chest.

No, not scars. Carvings. He had carved words into his own face and body.

"Sharon Madison is a whore," Jack read. "That's our confession then, is it?"

"Close as we're going to get, I reckon," the sergeant said. "You seen it yet?"

Swanson frowned. "Seen what? All I see is a stark bollock naked skinny fucker with a…"

The DCI's voice trailed off into silence. He felt the back of his throat go dry. He stepped back from the window, then leaned in for a closer look.

"What the fuck is that?"

"We don't know yet. We're trying to get someone to come have a look, but they're all tied up until… well, until when they aren't."

Swanson nodded, but barely heard. She stared in at the man in the cell, horrified yet at the same time transfixed by the lump below his skin. It was about the size of a small orange, and moved quickly, like a mouse running under a rug in an old cartoon.

It squirmed around in the skin of the man's neck for a moment, then wriggled upwards and vanished behind his head.

Swanson shuddered involuntarily.

She was just about to declare that as one of the creepiest things she'd ever seen in her life and Jack had better start talking when the lights went out with a _clunk_ , plunging the corridor into darkness.

"Oh great. Now what?"

"Don't know, sir," said the sergeant. "Power cut?"

"Fuck me, how come you're not a detective yet, sergeant?" Jack snapped. He began to walk, keeping one hand on the wall to keep straight. "Come on. Let's get upstairs and find out what's—?"

Something went _crunch_ and turned the floor slippery beneath his foot.

"Christ," he spat, almost losing his footing.

He took out his phone and lit up the screen. The pale light cast a faint blue glow across the floor, picking out the squishy remains of a fat black insect. It twitched fitfully as Swanson gazed down.

"What is it?" asked the sergeant, suddenly close in Swanson's ear.

"Jesus!" Swanson hissed, almost jumping out of her skin. "What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?"

Jack turned sharply and the glow from his phone illuminated the sergeant's apologetic face. The light licked the wall beside them, before being swallowed up by the dark.

"Sorry, Ma'am," said the sergeant.

A movement at the very edge of the light caught Swanson's eye.

It was up on the wall near ceiling level, little more than a shadow.

The screen timed out, plunging the corridor into absolute blackness once more.

Jack pushed down the button on top of the phone and the light returned.

The first thing Swanson saw was the spider on the wall, right beside the sergeant's head.

The next thing she saw were the rest of them. There were half a dozen or so, dotted irregularly across the meter of corridor she was able to see. They scuttled closer, their pointed legs tapping against the glossy paintwork.

And there, in that moment, Jack knew what had gotten under the skin of the man in the cell.

"Run," Jack said, but the word wouldn't come out at first. It took a second attempt for it to make it through his throat. "Run!"

He turned, holding the phone ahead of him, using its dim glow to light the way. The door that led upstairs was a dozen meters ahead in the gloom somewhere. He hurried towards it, suddenly feeling trapped down there in the dark.

"Shit, shit, get off. What is it? Get it off! Get it off!"

The sergeant's squeals came sharp at first, then suddenly muffled.

Jack stopped, turned, flashed up the phone in time to see the sergeant go down under a writhing mass of oily black spiders.

The floor heaved with them now, a squirming, scuttling living carpet that flowed like a river towards him.

The sergeant jerked sharply on the ground, his back arching, his head snapping back. And then, with a sound like air hissing from a punctured tire, he curled up and fell silent.

One of the insects landed on Swanson's boot. She kicked out, sending the creepy little fucker sailing off into the darkness.

They ran. There was nothing else for it.

Swanson ran, faster than she'd run since back in her uniform days. Faster, even, than before then.

Jack ran, hurtling himself along the corridor until he finally reached the door cuttinghim off from the stairs and the rest of the station above.

The locked door.

"Fuck!" he cursed, hammering his fists against the metal with a _boom-boom-boom_ that echoed all the way along the corridor and back again. "Fuck it, fuckity, fuck!"

The keys.

He needed the keys, but there was no way he could get them.

They were back along the corridor, back with the sergeant, and there was no way he could…

The light went out on his phone again. Jack muttered as Swanson pushed him aside and started to pound the door as she screamed for assistance, and jack jabbed at the phone.

When the glow returned it picked out the shape of a man standing less than a meter away.

"Ya bastard!" Swanson yelped, drawing back in fright. "Sergeant… You're… How the fuck did…?"

The sergeant stepped closer. Close enough for the light to pick out his dark eyes and lifeless blue lips. Close enough for Swanson to hear his breath rattling in and out, in and out, in and out.

And close enough for him to see a lump the size of a small orange squirm and wriggle beneath the sergeant's skin.

"Oh," Swanson said. "Fuck."

And with that, the sergeant lunged.


	9. Inflight Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/qwn7ifran/) [](https://postimage.org/)

**8:22 PM**

They sipped their drinks again.

Another flashing blue light passed on the street beyond the car park that faces the side of the Millennium Centre crossed the CCTV screen.

"Reminds me. See the way Jack lit out of here?" Owen asked. "One dead person cut in half and he's all 'Captain' and shit."

"Yeah, yeah," Ianto said, rolling his eyes. "There was a school killing thing too. This morning. A dad took out his kids and a few others."

"Jesus. He shoot them?"

Ianto shook his head. "Nope. Tire iron."

"Fuck." Owen sucked a dribble of coffee from the rim of the cup.

"That's messed up." He rummaged in his pocket for his phone. "Are there pictures?"

"You're sick," said Ianto. He finished the rest of his drink. "And no. I couldn't find any. Jack isn't sharing for some reason."

Owen tapped on his phone's screen a few times. "No network. What the fuck does this mean? 'No network'?"

"It means you've got no network," said Ianto. He took out his own phone and checked the screen. "Huh. Same here. Must be a fault."

"Hang on. I'm going to tweet to their customer support." Owen tapped an icon on his screen, waited a few seconds, and then huffed. "Fuck. No network."

"Aaaand the penny drops," said Ianto. "Tosh has gone home for the night, no joy there then."

They both put their phones away.

"We should get back to work," Ianto said.

Owen shook his head. "Why the rush? Are we not entitled to breaks?"

"No," said Ianto. "We took them like two hours ago. I want to get everything filed then go home.  
Unless Jack is coming back to tell us what the hell is going on"

A movement in the car park caught Ianto's eye. He turned and gazed out. "What the Hell?"

Owen turned to look. A figure was racing across the car park, arms flailing wildly.

"Is that Ifan?" Owen asked. "I gotta hand it to him, for a fat guy who was dying from asthma ten minutes ago, that bitch can run."

"He's not stopping," said Ianto, standing up. "Why isn't he stopping?"

BOOM! Ifan hit the glass at full speed. The large pane rumbled like thunder as Ifan bounced off, leaving a bloody marking where his face had hit.

Owen couldn't stop himself laughing. "Holy shit! Did he forget the door was there? God, why wasn't I recording that? That's guaranteed viral right there."

Ianto approached the screen. "He might be hurt."

"Dude, he's _definitely_ hurt," Owen said. "Did you see the way he hit the glass? He's going to be in a coma for, like, a month!"

"He's moving," Ianto said when Ifan rolled over onto his back. Blood gushed from his nose and a gash on his forehead, but it was his eyes that stopped Ianto moving away from the screen.

Ifan scrambled to his feet, and both Owen and Ianto jumped in surprise at how fast he moved.

Owen glanced sideways at Ianto. "Does Ifan seem, I don't know, _different_ to you?"

Ifan screamed and threw himself at the glass. His nose exploded. He slammed his face forward again, this time busting open his bottom lip.

Ianto gasped, as Ifan smashed his face against the glass yet again. "Should we go help him up there? He is our neighbour."

"Of course we shouldn't!" said Owen. "Look at him."

"Maybe he's just trying to get help."

Owen snorted. "Or maybe he's trying to feast on our tender young flesh," he said, "because that bitch right there? That, my friend, is a zombie."

"Shut the fuck up. Zombies aren't real."

"Correction. Zombies _weren't_ real," Owen said. Ifan hurled himself at the door again, his fingernails trying to scratch right through the glass. "Until now."

,

,

,

,

,

**8:18 PM**

This flight feels like it has taken forever! The gentleman next to me has gone to the bathroom – thank goodness - so I take a minute to stretch and fidget, and console myself with the fact that we're almost there. Half an hour left. Maybe a little more.

Then I get to see Nathan and the kids for the first time in nearly a week.

My seat tray is still folded down, the half-eaten remains of what they had the nerve to call a meal still sitting on top of it.

Thought they'd have tidied everything away by now, but now that I think about it, I haven't seen a stewardess in a while. I heard something about a passenger getting sick about an hour back. Maybe that's it.

I feel for the person, don't get me wrong, but come on. We've all been sitting here with our trays in front of us for way too long now. How many cabin crew does it take to look after one sick person?

I wanted to get some writing done, but I can't with this plate of mashed-up… _whatever it's supposed_ to be sitting there.

I'm halfway through hating myself for thinking about eating some more of the potatoes when I see something crawling on the back of the chair. It's shiny and black and, and _big_ – maybe the size of a chocolate bar. Bigger, even. It's the biggest, ugliest spider I've ever seen.

I hear myself letting out a yelp and a few heads turn my way. I glance round, embarrassed, then look back to find that the spider has gone. I'm about to jump up from my seat to try to find where it went, but all of a sudden it's like I don't even care. The spider was there, and then it wasn't, and it already feels like a lifetime ago.

The guy from the seat beside me comes back from the bathroom, and I have to step right out into the aisle to let him squash his fat arse past. He grunts as he squeezes in past the tray, huffing and sweating like a damn hog.

"Thank you," he wheezes, so breathless I suspect he's about three jumping jacks away from dropping dead. It'd serve him right. He's a horror-show. Someone should have put his fat ass out of its misery before we took off, so I wouldn't have had to spend six hours breathing in his body odour and listening to him fighting for air.

A whisper in my head agrees with me that someone should put this man down.

No, not man. He doesn't deserve that label. He's an animal. A fat, blubbery whale no-one should be forced to even look at, never mind be jammed in next to for several hours.

He looks at me with his sunken eyes and twists his blubbery lips into something that I guess is supposed to look like a smile, but which makes me want to throw up all over him. That'd teach him. That'd show him what decent, normal people think of horrible fat fucks like him.

But no. That's not enough. He looks down at his dinner tray. Empty, of course. He devoured the whole lot in minutes.

Caught him eyeing mine up, too. He'd have eaten all my scraps, given half the chance.

Left unchecked, he'll probably eat all of us.

Someone needs to teach him a lesson. Someone needs to carve some of that disgusting fucking lard from his bones.

Someone.

Anyone.

_The spider whispers in my head._

**Me.**


	10. bacon sizzles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/n2341kzjj/) [](https://postimage.org/)

The smell of blood mingled with the salty aroma of bacon, filling the small bar area, hanging in the air like a harsh rebuke.

For Taj Perjanda, time seemed to stand still.

Heavy and thick, the atmosphere tingled with shock and violence. It felt like the moments before an electrical storm erupted.

His mouth dropped open, his eyes painfully wide, as though his brain had requested more visual information than it was currently receiving in an attempt to process the bewildering scene.

The spell was broken when his neighbour's fingers unclenched and the head, which Taj now recognised as belonging to the man's wife, dropped to the floor with a sickeningly wet thump.

Her eyes were open, staring directly at Taj, and he felt as though something in his mind was suddenly being stretched taut, close to snapping.

 _Drunk,_ he thought, as he dropped instinctively into a defensive crouch, backing up as far as the narrow bar allowed. The thought was ridiculous. Taj had been drunk before, hell, spent most of the last few years wandering round in a warm stupor, and he'd never come close to decapitating anyone.

Still, it was what his beleaguered brain offered up and, for now, he would go with it.

"Stop right there, Joe," he cried, and was unnerved to hear his own voice, high pitched and tremulous.

His tone, which he had hoped would be authoritative, was instead plaintive. He sounded like a child begging a stern parent to stay up late.

Taj's mind reeled: he knew Joe Jones fairly well. He was the man who had performed with bloody spoons at his wedding ceremony.

And that other ceremony, the one that occupied the other end of the emotional scale, the one he tried not to think about. Joe had stood beside him, offering a warm hug and comfort.

The dock worker was a kind man, a man of enviable virtue and patience.

Never in a million years would Taj have considered him to be a threat to anyone.

For a moment his words did seem to have an effect: Joe stopped, swaying a little as though unsteady on his feet, his head whipping from Sitah to Taj and back again, as though he was struggling to make some terrible decision.

The fog in Taj's mind lifted a little, and he raced through his options. Joe was a bear of a man: at six foot two he had four inches on Taj, and was probably fifty pounds his superior in weight. He was not carrying any weapon that Taj could see.

Joe's hands were empty, stained red with blood, but it was his eyes that truly made Taj's nerves dance uncontrollably.

The man's eyes were impossibly wide, the whites a bright, angry red. Blood trickled from them like tears.

Joe seemed to make up his mind and lurched half a step toward Taj, when Sitah, who had been attempting to inch his way backwards, toward the door at the far end of the bar that led to the café's small stockroom, nudged the coffee pot on the bar with his ample gut, sending it crashing to the floor.

Joe's head whipped toward the noise.

The movement was animalistic, like a tiger catching sight of prey moving through the long grass.

It happened in an instant. Joe pounced like a starving animal, clear across the bar and onto Sitah with a ragged, gurgling roar.

And _bit_ him.

Bit his god-damned nose clean off, tossing the ripped chunk of flesh aside with a flick of his neck, before darting forward again and sinking his teeth into the soft, quivering flesh of Sitah's neck.

The fat man hit the deck, Joe straddling him in a grim mockery of a lover's embrace. An arterial spray of blood painted the wall red behind them.

For Taj, autopilot took over.

Without thought, he scooped up a bar stool in one smooth motion and swung it like a nine iron into Joe's right flank, sending the big man crashing into the stove, which spat up a griddle's worth of crispy bacon and searing, bubbling fat over the man's head.

A new smell hit Taj's nostrils, a sweet, sickening smell that brought bile to the back of his throat. The man lay motionless at the base of the stove, his face sizzling.

Taj shot a glance at Sitah, lying on his back, a bubble of blood and saliva on his lips.

Sitah's neck had a tear, perhaps four inches across, from which blood poured at obscene speed. Sitah's eyes were moving, locking onto Taj's gaze with an intense pleading. He looked like a frightened child.

Taj waved a clearly unnecessary _stay put_ gesture toward Sitah, and turned to see Joe hauling himself unsteadily to his feet.

Joe's face was a vision from a demented nightmare, flesh melted away from his skull, partially revealing bone. Both eyes were gone, rendered liquid, oozing down across his cheeks, fusing with the superheated meat that had been his nose and jaw.

This time Joe sprang forward without hesitation, teeth bared, an inhuman rage fuelled scream tearing from his lungs, but the attack was blind, and Taj had time to roll to the side, narrowly avoiding Joe's landing.

As he rolled, Taj's fingers found the shards of Sitah's dropped plate. He tried to stand, intending to brandish the makeshift weapon to deter Joe, but already aware on some level that the move would be futile.

He didn't get the chance.

Before Taj had even regained his balance Joe was upon him, strong fingers closing around his neck, forcing him back to the floor.

Stars exploded across his vision as the back of his head connected hard with the tiles, and terror threatened to overwhelm him. Joe's fingers closed like a vice, slowly, inexorably crushing his windpipe.

He had no other option.

No time to think.

He drove the shard of porcelain into the man's neck, drove it hard.

No self defence, this, it was a killing blow.

He felt warm blood splash onto his hand, and drove further, twisting and tearing with the weapon, oblivious to the pain as sharp edges sliced into his palm.

Something was there, under the surface of the skin and he felt it moving against his fingers as he applied more pressure, slicing through that as well.

After an eternity, the thick fingers on his throat slackened and slipped away. Air exploded into his lungs. Nothing had ever tasted as sweet.

With a grunt, Taj hauled himself out from beneath Joe's heavy body, painful hacking coughs ripping through his damaged throat.

He climbed to his feet using the bar for support, nearly pulling his still-steaming coffee down onto himself in the process. The entire attack had taken less than a minute.

Turning towards Sitah, he felt his heart sink. The jovial bar owner had been a little slow, but made up for it with a kindly smile and a warm heart. Now, in death, his features were contorted with anguish and pain, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

The flow of blood from the wound in Sitah's neck had slowed to a trickle, a bright red river leading to a vast ocean that spread across the tiles, mingling with the ground-in coffee and ketchup.

He thought back to what had been moving against his fingers, lifting his hand to rub his fingers together, feeling the tingling as it grew.

_Like spiders under the skin._

It would be the last conscious thought to cross Taj Perjanda's mind.

Moments later, his focus was entirely taken by his blood, which suddenly felt as if it were boiling in his veins.


	11. got another one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](http://postimg.org/image/6m4cg8yjz/) [](http://postimage.org/)

**6:54 PM**

When she woke up that afternoon, it never occurred to Christine Franklin that she'd bash her dad's skull in with a frying pan.

And now that she had – now that the screaming and the thrashing were over, now that his brains were painting the linoleum – she could only stare in mute shock as her mind tried to shut down from the horror of it all.

Her legs were shaking too much to stand yet.

She used her hands to shuffle away from the corpse on the floor until her back was against the dishwasher. The smell of the blood left a coppery tang in her mouth. She spat it out and let her breath come back in big shaky gulps.

Christine didn't want to look at the dead thing, but she was afraid to look away, as if the moment her back was turned it would rise up again, teeth snapping, hands curled into limp claws. It had been her dad, and then it had become something else. And now it wasn't anything at all.

There was the sound of movement out in the hall.

Footsteps shuffling along carpet.

Christine's breath caught at the back of her throat. The kitchen door slowly began to creak inward. She looked for the frying pan, then remembered tossing it across the room after smashing open her dad's head.

Christine tried to get up, but her legs shook and her bare feet slipped on the bloody floor. She kicked out frantically, trying to find purchase as the door swung open all the way, revealing a familiar figure framed in the doorway.

'Mom?'

A low moan burst like a bubble on her mom's withered lips. Another sound came from somewhere within Christine herself. It was a raw, primal scream. Not fear, but something much more. Terror times ten.

Her mom jerked into the kitchen like a bad animation, and immediately slid in the blood puddle. There was a solid _thump_ as her face battered against the kitchen floor, but whatever was driving her on didn't seem to notice.

She crawled forwards across the remains of her husband, her fingers squishing through the cheesecake of brain that had spurted from his caved-in head. She moved like an old drunk – slow and clumsy, her limbs trembling. Christine flailed out, searching for a weapon – something solid she could defend herself with.

Her hand found the handle of the dishwasher. She yanked the door down. Her arm bent backwards as she tried frantically to reach inside.

And then her mom was at her feet. No, not her mom, just a thing that looked like her. Her mom was long gone now. The thing's mouth was opening, its gnarled fingers grasping at Christine's jeans. Christine kicked with her free foot. Once. Twice. The thing that looked like her mom's nose burst open in a spray of dark red gloop, but still she held on, still she kept coming.

Christine grabbed the first thing she could find in the dishwasher. It was a plate.

Crumbs of that morning's breakfast clung to it like barnacles. Christine took the plate in both hands and smashed it down across her mom's head.

Her mom groaned, but kept coming, her fingertips pressing hard against the flesh of Christine's leg, as if trying to worm their way through her skin.

Another plate. Another smash. Christine kicked again, screaming as those fingertips threatened to dig right into her flesh.

Her shoulder clicked and pain stabbed down her arm as she tried to reach deeper into the dishwasher behind her.

A knife. A knife. If she could only find a knife.

Her mom's mouth was wide open now. Her tongue hung limply over her teeth.

Blood oozed from her gums and dribbled from the corners of her mouth, and – just for a moment – something seemed to crawl beneath the skin of her neck.

Christine's hand wrapped around something metal. She yanked it free, hoping for the big chef's knife her dad had chopped carrots with the night before.

Instead, she found the ladle her mom had used to dish out the soup. Hot breath seeped through the leg of her jeans as the thing's mouth closed in on Christine's ankle.

Christine swung with the ladle. It was small and not very heavy, but it made a loud _clonk_ sound as it battered against the side of her mom's head.

It wouldn't be enough, though. A few smacks from a kitchen utensil wouldn't stop the thing. Christine Franklin would die there on that kitchen floor, aged nineteen and two months, unless she thought of something fast.

She swung with the ladle again to get the thing's attention. Had to keep it distracted. Had to stop it chewing through her leg.

Christine kicked with her free foot again, driving the heel against her mom's cheek and snapping it to the left. Something _popped_ in the thing's neck and the head titled at a sickening angle. Christine's mom's mouth opened wider. The tongue unfurled like a tatty rug. Another groan echoed from within the cavern of her throat.

And Christine saw her chance.

She turned the ladle so the curved metal handle was pointing away from her. She sat forwards, and with a scream of rage and terror and revulsion, she rammed the handle straight down her mom's gaping throat.

The thing jerked and bone splintered as the handle of the ladle exploded out through the back of its neck. Its arms stopped grabbing. Its head fell to the side, the glazed-over eyes still open. The mouth continued to move, but the rest of the body was limp and useless.

Sobbing, Christine used the dishwasher to pull herself up. Her mom's eyes followed her to the door. Christine glanced back at what was left of her parents. She wiped a trickle of snot from her top lip, but only succeeded in smearing blood across her entire face.

"I'm s-sorry," she whispered.

She closed the door. She turned away.

Then she screamed as her brother hurled himself at her from the top of the stairs.

.

.

.

.

.

**1:35 AM**

Detective Inspector Andy Davidson stared at the naked teenager on the floor. He didn't bother checking for a pulse. There was no need. She was dead, no two ways about it. The cause of death, though, was a little harder to pinpoint.

Her head was turned almost 180 degrees on her shoulders. That was the most likely culprit, of course, but there was also a deep tear running right across her throat from one side to the other. From the pattern of blood on the floor and walls around her, it must have sprayed out of the wound like a fountain.

Davidson looked up.

The ceiling was a nicotine yellow, but there was a spattering of crimson, too, showing how high the blood spray had reached. He kept staring at it for a while, pretending there was something really fascinating up there and giving his stomach a chance to settle.

Steeling himself, he looked down at the girl again. Her bare skin was awash with blood, but through it Davidson could see what looked like bite marks on one of her breasts. Fiery red scratches ran down both sides of her face, visible on her snow white skin even through the blood-slick.

The girl's eyes were open, staring hopelessly upwards as if begging some higher power for help. Davidson moved to close them, but a wave of revulsion flooded his stomach, and he found himself stumbling towards the broken remains of the window for fresh air instead.

He'd seen enough human wreckage by now that the sight of it rarely bothered him, but the smell… The smell always reminded him that what was now just a burst sack of shit and organs had once been a functioning human being.

Davidson got as close to the broken window as he dared and sucked in a few deep breaths. The way the block was facing meant he couldn't see much of the city, but there was an orange glow and a whiff of smoke that suggested something was burning somewhere. Sirens screamed, and even in the small area he could see, three or four blue lights raced along the streets.

He breathed deeply. The cold air pushed back against his rising nausea. Just a couple of hours ago, the remains of TV weather presenter, Sharon Madison, had been found. The poor cow had been carved in half from top to bottom, and had all her organs removed. Their whereabouts, as far as he knew, were still unknown.

As he'd stared down at her, Davidson had come to the conclusion that this had to be it. This _had_ to be the single worst thing he'd ever see. After this, he'd thought, there'd be no worse things to witness.

But as he stared out into the dark, with a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl spread out behind him like a broken doll, Davidson began to worry that he might be wrong, and that there might yet be worse things out there than the halves of Sharon Madison.

"Ready."

Davidson jumped and let out a little gasp of fright. He turned to see Cheryse standing in the doorway, now cleaned up and dressed in fresh jeans and a fluffy brown hoodie designed to look like Chewbacca from Star Wars.

She had a rucksack-type schoolbag slung over one shoulder, and a fucking enormous kitchen knife in the opposite hand.

"What's that for?" Davidson asked her. He felt his pulse quicken. From what he'd been able to gather from talking to Cheryse downstairs, there had been four people in the flat just half an hour ago – Cheryse, the girl on the floor, and two boys who'd both taken a nose dive through the window.

Everything else he'd seen that night had led him to believe her story about one of the boys going crazy and killing the others, but now here she was standing in front of him with a dirty great knife, and suddenly he remembered she wasn't just a witness to what had happened in the flat, she was also the prime suspect.

"Self-defence," said Cheryse, looking down at the blade. It was easily eight inches from tip to handle, and reached down past her knees.

Davidson swallowed. "And what do you think's going to attack you? A rhino?"

Cheryse gripped the knife and chewed her bottom lip. Her eyes turned shiny with tears.

"I don't know," she tried to say, but it came out as a croaky whisper. "But I'm not taking any chances."

Davidson held out his hand. "Give me the knife, Cheryse. You don't need it. I'll keep you safe."

Cheryse snorted. "You? Sorry. You almost shat yourself when I came into the room."

"I'm in the Heddlu, you know that. I can look after you. Give me the knife."

Cheryse shook her head.

"You're not getting the knife," she said, and her voice went from shaky to angry. "Look, I saw him. I was there when Samuel threw Ashleigh _through a fucking door_ and when he tried to chew Lenny's arm off then pushed him through the window. Not _out_ the window, _through_."

She turned her head, showing Davidson the three sticking plasters he'd used downstairs to cover the gash on her cheek, and the darkening bruise that was now covering almost a quarter of her face.

"He did this. He nearly shoved his thumbs through my eyes. He killed Ashleigh, he killed Lenny, and he nearly killed me!"

"And now he's dead," Davidson reminded her.

" _He_ is!" Cheryse admitted. "But what about everything else that's going on? Hmm? What about none of the TV channels broadcasting? What about the phones not working? You told me yourself, that guy off the news was lying dead in the studio, and no-one was coming to help him. Why not? Why was nobody coming, unless they were dead, too?"

"We don't know that," Davidson protested.

"Exactly. We don't know anything," agreed Cheryse. "And that's why I'm keeping the fucking knife."

Davidson opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. He glanced out through the broken window behind him. There was a squeal in the distance which might have been an alarm, or might have been someone screaming. Whatever it was, it was silenced almost immediately.

"OK, take the knife," Davidson said. He shifted awkwardly on his feet. "But I don't suppose you happen to have another one?"


	12. who is it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](http://postimg.org/image/z3logsezz/) [](http://postimage.org/)

Davidson zipped up his jacket and tried to tuck the knife Cheryse had given him up inside his sleeve. The blade was much smaller than hers was, and he was able to conceal most of it, at least.

"You ready?" he asked.

Cheryse stood behind him at the foot of the stairs, her hairy hood pulled up over her head. She nodded abruptly, her eyes staying fixed on the heavy security door that was currently keeping them cut off from the world outside.

"My car is in the car park. It's only a hundred yards away. Just a hundred yards, that's all," he said, trying to convince himself as much as the girl. "We'll get to it, we'll get to the station, then we'll find out what's happening. It's going to be OK. OK?"

Cheryse gave another nod. She had the knife clutched flat against her chest, pointed downwards, her knuckles white on the handle.

"OK, three, two, one…" Davidson turned the lock and pulled open the door.

He jumped back, as if expecting someone to come rushing in at them, but all that came in through the gap was a swirl of cold air, and a faint smell of burning. Davidson and Cheryse both breathed out at the same time.

Davidson leaned around the door and looked in both directions. Far off on the left, just beside the corner, he could see broken glass on the pavement. There was something else there, too. It took him a moment to recognize it as a hand. The arm, and the body it belonged to, were mercifully hidden by the rest of the building.

"Coast's clear. This way," Davidson said. He began walking quickly towards the car park on the right.

There were five or six other cars parked a little closer, but he always made a point of parking his under the street lights in an attempt to dissuade any random pricks who might otherwise think about breaking into it. Right now, though, he wished he'd just parked the bloody thing closer and taken the risk.

Cheryse glanced around anxiously as they took a shortcut across the patch of grass – Dog Shit Field, she always used to call it – between the car park and the flats.

Outside, the sounds of sirens and alarms and distant shouting were much more in your face, and the longer they were exposed to it all, the faster her pulse began to race.

"What one is it?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

"There," said Davidson, pointing ahead to a dull grey Renault that looked mostly orange in the glow from the street light hanging above it. "Not much further. Don't worry."

"Andy," Cheryse hissed. She caught him by the back of his jacket and tugged hard. "Look."

Davidson turned in the direction Cheryse was staring. They were level with the rear side of the flats now, and in the gloom Davidson could make out a group of people all huddled together.

"Come here," he whispered to Cheryse, and they both ducked down next to the first car in the car park. They watched the group for several long seconds in silence, before Cheryse finally spoke.

"What should we do?"

Davidson looked around them, then back at the group. It was hard to tell for sure, but there seemed to be around eight or nine of them there. He thought he could just make out the old woman from downstairs – God, what was her name? – standing there in a dressing gown.

"They don't seem violent or anything," Davidson said. "We should talk to them."

Cheryse's eyes went wide.

"Are you fucking nuts?" she whispered.

Davidson frowned. "What? Of course I'm not, but look at them. They're not doing anything. Look, that's the woman from downstairs. What's her name? In the dressing gown. She's, I don't know, in her eighties. I hardly think she's going to cause us any trouble."

Despite Cheryse's hissed protests, Davidson straightened up. He glanced around again, then began walking quickly towards the group.

"Andy," Cheryse whispered, keeping low. "Andy, come back."

"Hello, there," Andy called, as he drew closer to the crowd. Almost at once, he realized his mistake. Every head snapped towards him as one, and in the faint orange glow of the street lights, he could make out their faces.

Twisted. Snarling. Wrong.

The crowd moved together, lurching from stationary to sprinting in a split second.

Davidson hesitated, transfixed by the jerky movements of the old woman from downstairs as she powered towards him on her bare feet.

From behind him, Davidson heard Cheryse shout his name, and at last he began to run. The air at his back was filled with a chorus of frenzied screeches and screams as he hurled himself across the grass and raced towards his car.

Cheryse was running ahead of him, head down, her knife flashing in the light as her arms pumped the air.

The car was close now, but the screaming and the gnashing and the thudding of running footsteps sounded closer still. Cheryse slammed up against the passenger door and yanked on the handle.

Locked.

"Open the door!" she shrieked, and Davidson fumbled in his pockets for his keys. His heart leapt into his throat. No keys.

Frantically, he swapped the knife to his other hand and checked the pocket on the other side. His fingers brushed against metal and he let out a high-pitched sob of relief.

Yanking the keys free, he pushed down on the remote.

The lights blinked and Cheryse dived inside.

Davidson chanced a look back over his shoulder, and his body went tight from the arse upwards. The mob was right at his heels, hissing and spitting and snarling like animals, their hands grabbing and clawing for his back.

The sight of them pushed him harder.

There was no time to make it all the way around the car, so he screamed at Cheryse to move over, and she hurriedly clambered into the driver's seat.

With a final desperate dive, Davidson hit the passenger seat and pulled the door shut. The charging crowd slammed into the side of the vehicle at full speed, and for a brief, horrible moment, Davidson felt like it was going to tip sideways.

He pushed down the lock on the door and thrust the keys into Cheryse's hands.

"Drive."

"I don't know how!" Cheryse yelped.

A figure pounced onto the front of the car and began scratching at the windscreen with her crooked fingers, her dressing gown flapping open in the wind. _Mrs Maclean, that_ was her name. Davidson felt a strange sense of relief at finally having remembered it, but then the car rocked sideways again and the feeling passed.

He pulled on his seat belt and nodded in the direction of the ignition. "Then I hope for both our sakes you're a fast fucking learner."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**1:47 AM**

Rhiannon Davies flicked open her eyes, then lay there for a moment wondering why. She slid her hand across the sheets, reaching for Johnny, but his side of the bed was cool and smooth.

Night shift, she remembered. Wouldn't be home for hours yet.

She wriggled around, turning her back on the rest of the bed. The LED display of the alarm clock flashed 00:11 at her, blinking on and off like a warning light. Through the fog of half-asleep it took her a moment to realize the power must have tripped out.

Police sirens had been wailing along the street all evening. Maybe the power cut had something to do with that.

The flash of another light caught her eye. One of the little red dots on the baby monitor flickered on and off again. It was little more than a blink, but enough to tell her that Micha was restless.

Rhiannon held her breath, not daring to move. Micha had been sleeping better these past few nights. They'd almost dared to believe that the months of sleep-depravation might be about to come to an end, but that tiny flicker from the monitor was enough to throw the whole dream into doubt.

"Don't wake up," Rhiannon whispered. "Please don't wake up."

She stared at the baby monitor, as if she could make Micha stay sleeping through sheer force of will.

She could hear her breathing – not the rhythmic sighing of sleep, but the louder huffing in and out of the wide awake and restless.

The little red dot flickered for a fraction of a second. Rhiannon tensed and gripped the duvet. This was still salvageable, she told herself. Micha may still fall back asleep.

The night wasn't necessarily a complete write-off yet.

She sat up and leaned in closer to the monitor, trying to get a better understanding of what was happening down there. Were Micha's eyes closed or open? Was she sitting up or lying down? If she could figure that out she'd know what the odds were of her darling daughter dropping back off.

The baby monitor buzzed softly in Rhiannon's ear.

She could still hear Micha breathing, but there was another sound, too. A scuff of footsteps on carpet. Rhiannon's stomach tightened and her lungs seemed to stop working altogether as she realized with complete clarity that her daughter was not alone in her room.

She'd never thought of herself as a brave woman, and even as she leaped from her bed and raced into the hallway in her pyjamas, she still didn't. Her baby – her daughter – was in danger. Nothing else mattered but that.

Micha's room was on the ground floor, but Rhiannon didn't even notice herself flying to the stairs, or taking them in bounds of two and three.

Snatching a heavy wooden candlestick from the sideboard, she barged into the room, throwing the door wide and screaming like a woman possessed.

"Get away from my baby!"

"What the Hell?" yelped Johnny, ducking and holding up his arms to protect himself from his wild-eyed wife. "It's me, it's me! Rhiannon, it's me!"

Rhiannon dropped the candlestick and covered her mouth with both hands. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and she let out something that was halfway between a sob and a laugh of relief.

It was just bloody Johnny!


	13. Mama, I'm not coming home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](http://postimg.org/image/6wrxtou0f/) [](http://postimage.org/app.php)

She could sense them, somewhere in the dark, somewhere close.

The creature that had been Jennifer Forester did not understand why the presence of the two creatures was different from the rest, nor why she felt so drawn toward them.

All she knew was the boiling of her blood, the frantic thrumming of the cells that formed her existence, a terrible vibration that seemed to make her head spin.

The blackness gave away nothing, and her ears, suddenly so sharp, so reliable, twisted this way and that, hoping to catch something on the wind, some answer that might abate the gnawing hunger that drove her.

Here in this scent was something different, something that stood out, some inexplicable gravity that she felt compelled to obey.

Maybe it was the consumption of these two creatures that would finally release her from the hunger.

Maybe the spider would let go and she would be able to sleep. God, she was so tired.

She reached out her bloodstained hands, finding only a solid object in front of her. They were there, right there. They should have been within her reach. So close she could _smell_ them. The scent was so strong.

Intoxicating, overpowering.

She began to pound against the obstruction before her, roaring in impotent rage. She threw her considerable weight into it, oblivious to the pain as her soft flesh connected with it, frenzied.

And then, as she charged into it, her ears picked up the sound of something beyond. A cracking. Groaning. The sound of something loosening. It was beginning to give.

With a roar, she charged again.

.

.

.

Monica peeked over the low wall that served as a boundary for the flat roof, and her heart broke.

Henry was right. There, in the narrow alley below them, the one into which she and Henry had fled minutes before, stood their mother.

Jennifer Forester had a chunk of her arms missing, the forearm looking as though something had taken a bite out of it. What was left of her ragged dress was drenched in blood.

When the wind caught the flimsy material it was pulled apart, revealing sagging, naked flesh underneath.

Somehow this was the worst part for Monica, worse even than the empty sockets where her mother's eyes had been.

There was something so total, so final, about seeing her mother standing half naked on the streets, something that left Monica in no doubt that this parent was as lost to her now as the one that lay unmoving in the basement of his house.

She glanced at Henry, who was shaking his head as though answering a question, eyes wide and streaming with tears.

He began to emit a low moan, and Monica clapped her hand over his mouth, silencing him.

In the alley, their mother was standing near the door that Henry had smashed open.

As Monica watched, she swayed, appearing almost drunk, her head swinging back and forth. Monica tried to compartmentalise the horror of it, forcing the desire to scream into a dark corner of her mind.

She wanted to look away, but some part of her brain was still functioning rationally, something that told her that they needed to know what they were up against, and so she forced herself to watch.

Their mother began to move back and forth, small stumbling steps, moving in a circle, as thought trying to find something. Still her head was swinging around, and Monica realised suddenly that she was sniffing the air, like a dog trying to pick up a scent.

Her movements were becoming more frenzied, steeped in frustration, and then she roared.

It was a noise that Monica would never have believed could have come from her mother, a hoarse bestial scream of rage that made the hair on Monica's arms and neck stand up.

She realised that she was holding her breath, every muscle in her body clenched in terror. And then the pounding started. At first with her fists and then with her entire body, Monica and Henry's mother began to attack the door that separated her from her children.

Monica thought of the broken lock, and the deadbolt. She prayed it would hold and cursed herself for not returning to barricade the door as soon as they had known the house was empty.

A whimper escaped Henry's lips and the pounding in the alley below increased in intensity. Monica squeezed her eyes shut, afraid to look, and heard one final, enormous bang, and then silence.

When she peeked again, her blood ran cold.

The alley was empty, and the door, weakened already by the assault, had been smashed in.

Their mother was in the house.

"Oh fuck," she heard Henry say, the words reaching her as though from a great distance. "The ladder! We have to pull up the-"

"No time!" Monica screamed. "GO!"

She grabbed Henry's collar and thrust him toward the boundary that separated the roof from that of the next building. There was a sheer drop on two sides, but the terraced buildings would allow them to run at least some distance before negotiating a path to the ground became a problem. Even as Henry began to move, the door to the attic burst open, and the bloodstained monster that had been their mother rocketed toward them, snarling.

As Monica turned, she felt fingers grasping at her hair and cried out in pain as it was torn out at the root. She hurdled the wall, landing on the tiled roof of the next building, almost losing her footing and scrambling forward on all fours, feeling the angle of the roof working against her.

Henry was a few steps ahead of her, clumsily charging forward, each footfall loosening and cracking the tiles.

Behind them, their mother was also scrabbling, oblivious to the drop that yawned below them, scampering across the tiles, clawing for Monica's foot, missing by inches.

And then it happened, as Monica had known it must. Her foot hit a tile that betrayed her, slipped away, sending her crashing onto her belly.

Her mother was on top of her in a heartbeat, face diving forward, and in that instant Monica saw it all unfold: the teeth tearing into the flesh of her neck, snapping through tendon and artery, scraping on bone.

She shut her eyes, trying to block out the vision, the horror of the woman who had brought her into the world savaging her like a rabid bulldog.

And then she felt a heavy weight land on her chest, knocking the air out of her.

The tearing teeth did not connect.

Instead, when she opened her eyes again she saw her mother's body slumped on top of her, a sharp fragment of tile buried in her forehead, and her brother standing over them both, shaking, the honest, smiling eyes darkened and empty, as though the light that had powered them had simply been flicked off.

All over the city, similar acts of violence played out as the spiders fought for control.


	14. Rhia and Johnny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](http://postimg.org/image/6cmrhho9r/) [](http://postimage.org/)

"Oh God! Oh God, Johnny! I almost brained you," she said between big, gulping breaths. "I thought you were a burglar or, I don't know, someone. With all the sirens outside tonight, I thought…"

Johnny stepped in and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close. "Ssh, it'sOK. It's OK."

With her head pressed in against Johnny's chest, Rhiannon could just see Micha's face.

Her eyes were wide and sparkling as she reached up for the mobile dangling above her. There'd be no getting her back to sleep now, but for the first time in weeks, Rhiannon was happy about that.

"What you doing home, anyway?" Rhiannon asked, still content to stay snuggled in Johnny's bear hug.

"Strangest thing happened," said Johnny. "I'd picked up some guy in Blackhill and run him out Dumbarton direction. About, I don't know, couple of hours ago. So I pull up, right, and he pays me in cash."

Johnny stopped.

"I'm not sure that qualifies as 'the strangest thing'," Rhiannon said, but with her head against her husband's chest, she could hear his heart pounding much faster than normal.

"What is it?" she asked. "What happened?"

"It's just… As he was handing me over the money, this… thing fell out of his sleeve, right onto my hand."

Rhiannon drew back so she could see Johnny's face. His eyes darted left and right, as if searching for a memory he couldn't quite track down. "What do you mean 'this thing'? What thing?"

Johnny's eyes stopped shifting and fixed on her. "A spider," he said. "It was a spider."

"A spider?" Rhiannon frowned. Her whole body convulsed involuntarily. "Jesus. What sort of spider?"

"A… a big one. I don't know. Not something I've ever seen before," Johnny said. "It was big and black and shiny and I knew I should be freaking out, but… it was so weird. I wasn't."

"You weren't? I would have been. I mean, Jesus, I'm freaking out about it now," Rhiannon said. "What did you say?"

"To the spider?"

Rhiannon smiled and slapped him gently on the chest. "To the passenger. The guy whose sleeve it fell out of. I mean, as tips go, that one's not great."

"Oh, him. Um, nothing. I don't remember where he went after that."

"What about the spider? Did you kill it?" Rhiannon asked.

Johnny stiffened. "What?"

"Did you kill it? The spider?"

"Of course I didn't fucking kill it," Johnny snapped, his voice suddenly filled with venom. "Why the fuck would I kill it? What kind of question's that?"

Rhiannon stepped back in surprise. "OK. Jesus, I only asked. No need to be a dick about it. I thought you'd have killed it. What did you do with it?"

"Nothing," said Johnny, the anger in his voice now replaced by an even flatness. "I didn't do anything with it."

"Then where did it go?" asked Rhiannon, frowning again.

Johnny stepped closer. His breathing seemed unnaturally loud in the dark. "I think…I think it went inside me."

Rhiannon snorted a laugh.

"Inside you?" she said. She searched his face, but saw nothing there to suggest he was joking. "What are you talking about? How could it have gone inside you?"

"I don't know," Johnny admitted. "But I can hear it."

"Hear it? The spider that went inside you, you can hear it?"

Johnny nodded slowly. "It thinks… It thinks we should kill the baby."

Rhiannon felt her stomach tighten for the second time in the space of five minutes. "Shut up, Johnny. That's not funny."

Johnny stepped forwards and wrapped his arms around his wife again, pinning her own arms to her side. He pulled her in close, squashing her hard against his broad chest.

"I don't want to, babe, I don't want to," he whispered. "But we have to. The spider says we have to. _I_ have to."

"Let go of me," Rhiannon said, struggling to break free of Johnny's grip. "Johnny, you fucking let go of me right now."

"We don't need it. We were fine before it came along. We'll be fine again once it's gone," Johnny said.

" _She_ , Johnny, and this is not funny. I don't know what you think you're doing, but the joke is fucking over. Let me go _right now_."

Over in her crib, Micha began to cry. Rhiannon felt a scream of rage well up inside her.

It burst from her lips as she brought one knee up sharply, driving it deep into Johnny's groin. He groaned and stumbled back, clutching his balls and looking like he might throw up.

Rhiannon ran for her crying daughter, but before she could reach Micha, Johnny caught her by the arm and spun her round.

"You ungrateful fucking whore," he growled, his face twisted into an expression Rhiannon had never seen before in all their years together.

His fist hit her like a wrecking ball, spinning her to the floor. She landed awkwardly on the carpet, her wrist twisting painfully beneath her.

David started to wail out in the hallway, his teddy clutched in his hands.

By the time she'd rolled over, Johnny was over the crib, reaching inside.

"We don't need it," he whispered. "We don't need it. These are the things a good daddy does."

Rhiannon was on her feet before she'd even thought about moving. Her arm drew back, and she was surprised to see the candlestick in her hand, swinging towards her husband's head. It hit not with the hollow _thud_ she'd been expecting, but with a nauseating _crack_ that she felt more than heard.

Johnny spun around, hissing like a demon.

He flew at Rhiannon, but her arm came up all by itself again and the heavy base of the candlestick connected just above his right eye. He staggered and fell, a curved line of blood already appearing where the edge of the rounded base had struck him.

With a _crash_ he hit Micha's toy box, his forehead slamming against the side of the lid. A sound, like bubbling water rolled from between his lips. He twitched violently, then seemed to deflate into stillness.

Rhiannon hesitated, fighting the instinct to check on him. Instead, she wrapped Micha in her blanket and pulled her in against her chest.

She was half way to the door when she heard Johnny stir. Without looking back, she raced out into the hallway, scooped up her son and made for the front door. She had to get outside, flag someone down, get help, get away. Johnny was clearly having some sort of breakdown, and much as she loved her husband, she'd kill him before she let him hurt their baby.

The street outside was empty, and much darker than she'd been expecting. The street lights were out in both directions, but there were more lights on in the other houses than was normal for that time of night.

Bare-footed, Rhiannon ran past the first house, which was in darkness. She hammered on the frosted glass door of the next one, where lights blazed in every window.

"Please," she whispered, knocking rapidly. "Please, someone be up. Someone be up."

There was a sound from somewhere inside the house. Rhiannon glanced back at her own front door and held the crying children close. There was no sign of Johnny yet, but it was only a matter of time.

A shape appeared through the frosted glass of the door.

"Open up, please," Rhiannon said. "I need help."

The flat of a hand slapped against the inside of the glass. There was a long squeak as the hand slid down, leaving a streak of blood on the door.

Rhiannon stepped back as the hand became a fist and began to pound at the glass. The person inside the house squealed and screeched as he kicked and punched and threw himself at the door. Rhiannon backed away further, past the parked cars and into the road, watching the distorted shape thrash harder and more violently against the glass.

"Rheeeeee!"

Johnny staggered from inside their house, blood painting both sides of his face. He was partly hunched over, his fingers curled up like claws. As he spotted his wife and children, he lurched towards them, his mouth gnashing at the air.

"No, please, Johnny, no," Rhiannon sobbed, backing all the way to the other side of the road. Johnny broke into a run. His movements were jerky, his face now twisted almost beyond all recognition.

Rhiannon clutched Micha tightly against her children, shielding them.

Whatever happened. Whatever Johnny did, she wouldn't let him hurt their babies.

"No, Johnny, please, stay back," Rhia whimpered, then she squinted in a sudden glare as Johnny was silhouetted by two powerful beams of light.

A black SUV hit him like a battering ram, sending him skidding along the road on his face. For a moment, Rhiannon could only stare at his unmoving body in shock. But then his foot twitched and his fingers curled, and, to her amazement, he began to sit up.

With a _creak_ , the SUV's passenger door was pushed open.

A small man with dark eyes leaned over from the driver's seat and beckoned urgently to her.

"Oi, lady," he called with a cockney accent. "You getting in or what?"


	15. through the door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](http://postimg.org/image/4rpx2bjaz/) [](http://postimage.org/)

**2:21 AM**

Davidson leaned over the reception desk, on the off-chance that someone was hiding on the other side.

"Hello?" he called, when he found no-one there. "Anyone about?"

"Where is everyone?" asked Cheryse. There was a note of panic in her voice she was only barely managing to keep a lid on. The drive to the station had only been a mile or so, but it had been like navigating a warzone. She'd been relieved when Davidson had swapped seats with her, but had then spent the rest of the journey just staring in horror at everything going on outside.

A lot of it had just looked like bog-standard rioting, although quite a lot more enthusiastic than usual. There was the run-of-the-mill looting, vandalism and arson happening on pretty much every street, but here and there she'd seen groups of people chasing individuals down. She'd always looked away before they caught up, preferring to imagine that the person being chased had somehow made it to safety.

She'd expected the Heddlu station to be safe, but from the moment they'd entered she knew it wasn't. She was filled with a sudden nagging doubt that nowhere would ever be safe again.

The glass doors hung off their hinges. Furniture was upturned, broken or both.

Smoke poured from the windows on two different floors, and while there was a lot of blood spattered across the walls and other surfaces, there was no-one – Heddlu officer or otherwise – to be found.

"Andy? I said where is everyone?"

"I don't… I don't know," Davidson admitted. "Maybe they left."

"Left? What, all of them? They all just left?"

"Maybe! Like I said, I don't know, Cheryse, OK?" Davidson snapped. He squeezed the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. "Sorry," he sighed. "I don't…maybe they're upstairs."

He looked to the ceiling, then frowned. "No, wait." His eyes went to the floor. "Let's check the cells."

"Why the cells?" asked Cheryse. "It's cops we're looking for, not prisoners."

"Safest place in the building," said Davidson. "It's like a vault down there."

He pressed the call button on the elevator. There was a metallic squeal and grinding sound from somewhere inside the shaft. Davidson shot Cheryse a sideways glance.

"Maybe we should take the stairs."

.

.

.

.

The basement level was in darkness. Davidson flicked the light switches a few times, as if that might somehow fix the fault. When it didn't, he reached into his pocket for his mobile to use as a torch and then remembered it was back in the flat, still wedged under his mattress.

Davidson backtracked up to the ground floor and rummaged in the front desk until he found a torch. Halfway down the stairs again, he heard Cheryse whisper.

"Ssh," she urged. "Quiet."

Davidson tip-toed the last few steps.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"I heard something," Cheryse said. Davidson could only faintly make out her outline in the dark. She pointed towards where he knew the main cells door lay. Sure enough, if he listened, he could hear something, too. It sounded like…

"Is that… is that someone muttering?" Davidson said. He clicked on the torch. "Swanson? That you?"

A circle of light illuminated the small square window in the door. A face scrunched up in the sudden glare.

"Fuck. Watch where you're pointing that thing," spat Detective Chief Inspector Swanson. "Davidson? Is that you?"

Davidson approached the door. "Aye. Aye, it's me."

"About fucking time," she snapped. "Harkness told you to knock off early, not vanish off the face of the fucking Earth. D'you know how many times we tried to phone?"

"I've a pretty good idea, aye," Davidson admitted. He reached for the button to open the door, but Jack's sudden shout stopped him.

"Don't open it!"

Davidson froze. "What? Why?"

Jack took a deep breath. "How fucked up is it out there?"

Davidson glanced back at Cheryse. "Pretty bad."

"Aye, well it's no' exactly been a bed of roses down here, either," Swanson said. "Morrison's dead."

Davidson blinked. "Morrison?"

"Aye."

"Who's Morrison?"

"Fuck's sake," Swanson huffed. "Sergeant Morrison. You know. With the wife that got caught shagging her stepbrother."

"Sergeant Watson?" said Davidson.

Swanson twitched with irritation. "Whatever his fucking name is. He's dead."

"Shit. You sure?"

DCI Swanson glanced back over her shoulder at Jack.

"I'm pretty sure, aye," she said. "If he's not, it won't be for want of me fucking trying. Now, about that button."

Davidson reached for it again.

"No! She didn't mean press it! Jesus. Listen." Jack took another deep breath. "There's something in here with us."

Davidson frowned. "What?"

"Spiders," said Swanson.

Cheryse stepped forward. "Spiders?"

"Who the fuck's she?" Swanson asked.

"My upstairs neighbour," Davidson explained. "It's… It's a long story. What do you mean, 'spiders'?"

"I mean spiders. I can't put it any more plainly than that. There's spiders in here. A lot of spiders. If I was feeling descriptive, I'd go so far as to say it's fucking teaming wi' spiders."

There was a long silence while Davidson waited for more.

"So?" he asked, eventually.

Jack laughed to himself. "'So?' he says. _So_ , we don't want the spiders getting out there. Trust me on that."

Davidson felt himself frowning again. It was becoming a habit. "So… what? We just leave you in there?"

"Aye, you wish," Swanson said. "No. You're going to open the door, then slam it behind us before any of them get out. Got that?"

Davidson nodded. "Got it."

"Right," said Swanson.

Jack rocked from foot to foot. "Don't hit the button until I tell you. I'm going to scare these wee bastards back a bit."

Davidson shot Cheryse a concerned glance. "Scare the spiders back?"

"Aye. They won't come near him. Christ knows why. Not that I'm complaining." She cricked her neck.

"Right, get ready," she said, then Jack turned and ran into the corridor, roaring at the top of his voice.

"Is he always like that?" Cheryse asked.

Davidson started to shake his head, then stopped.

"I'd like to say 'no,' but… pretty much," Davidson admitted, then he jumped when Swanson screamed at him to hit the button.

A single tone rang out as Davidson slapped the door open button.

Swanson hit the door hard and tumbled through.

"Shut it!" Jack bellowed, tripping and falling forwards onto the floor on top of Swanson.

Davidson put his weight behind the door and slammed it closed.

There was a sound like heavy hailstones hitting the metal on the other side.

"Check the floor!" Swanson barked. Davidson swung the beam of the torch down. He found himself sighing with relief when he saw the floor at their feet was a spider-free zone.

"It's OK. Nothing came through," he said.

"Something nearly did," said Cheryse.

She bent at the waist and leaned down to look at the bottom of the door. There, trapped between the door and the frame, was a shiny black insect. Only its head and front pincers had made it through the gap. It wriggled and squirmed, the pincers grabbing at the air.

Davidson shuddered.

"That's the biggest spider I've ever seen," he said.

"It's not a spider," said Jack, standing up and dusting himself down. In the glow of the torch, Davidson saw a spray splatter of blood on his shirt and heavy grazing on his knuckles. "It's a hitchhiker."

"How do you know it's not a spider?" said Cheryse. "It looks like one."

Swanson barked with hysterical laughter as Jack rolled his eyes.

"I don't care what it fucking looks like, sweetheart, it's not a spider," he said. "And how do I know? Because it told me."

Cheryse's brow furrowed. "It told you?"

"Aye," Swanson growled, rounding on her. "What's wrong with that?"

Cheryse quickly shook her head. "Nothing."

"Bollocks. I just told you a spider talked to me. Everything's wrong with that. Grow a fucking backbone, sweetheart," Jack said.

"So… it didn't talk to you?" Davidson asked.

"Oh, no. It did," said Jack. "Well, not that one, but another one. It's talking to me now, actually."

He looked slowly between them both. "It's telling me I should kill the pair of you. Shove my thumbs through your eye sockets."

Davidson and Cheryse stiffened. They both reached for the knives they had tucked into their belts.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to listen to it," Jack said. "See, I think I've figured out what's happening."

He glanced left and right, as if about to impart a great secret.

"I think these spiders are turning people into big angry mad bastards, but I had something working in my favour." He tapped himself on the temple again. "I was a big angry mad bastard to begin with. I think about killing half the bastards in this place on a daily basis."

Davidson swallowed. "That's… uh… reassuring."

Swanson nodded her agreement, then puffed out her cheeks and pointed upwards.

Then Jack grinned back, canting his head as he posed his next question.

"Now, what's say one of you kills me to get the spider out and then we go up there and find out just how fucked we all are?"


	16. ah, Ma'am?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](http://postimg.org/image/nkgsshilf/) [](http://postimage.org/)

"Pretty fucked, I'd say," said Davidson.

He and DCI Swanson stood in the station doorway, gazing out at the city. Most of it was burning now, but there were no more sirens to be heard, just shouts and screams and breaking glass.

The sound of a city dying.

Davidson looked at his boss. "What do we do? Should we try to help?"

Swanson shook her head. "We're far past that stage. Get your girlfriend. We need to go."

"She's not my girlfriend, she's only thirteen!"

"Fifteen," corrected Cheryse from behind them.

"Still illegal, though," Davidson protested.

Cheryse joined them in the doorway. "What's illegal?"

"Us, you know, having… uh… _sexual relations_."

Cheryse's eyes went wide. "Jesus."

Davidson blushed. "No, I'm not… I wasn't saying…" He looked imploring at Jack, but the agent was shaking his head and frowning so deeply he appeared to have just one big eyebrow.

"Fuck's sake, detective inspector," Swanson muttered. "Get a hold of yourself. As I was saying, we need to get out of here."

"And go where?" Davidson asked.

"My sister's got a place up north. In Highbridge."

"Never heard of it," said Davidson.

"No-one's fucking heard of it. That's the point, there's no bastard there. It's just outside Fort William. We'll head there and see what the score is, my team is going to meet me at Fort William as it's our fall back zone" Jack said softly, "Well, those I got hold of."

"What about my mum and dad?" Cheryse asked.

Both men turned to look at her.

"Where are they?" asked Swanson asked with a groan as she chose to watch her city burn.

"Spain."

"Oh, well in that case we'll swing by and pick them up on the way," Swanson said. "I've got my private jet on standby. We'll whizz over there and-"

"Uh, OK, Ma'am. She gets the point," said Davidson.

Swanson opened her mouth to say something else, and then stopped herself. She looked at Cheryse, but she kept her face turned away.

"Sorry," Swanson said. "That was out of order."

Cheryse shrugged, but said nothing.

"I'm sure they're fine. I bet none of this is happening over there. They're probably having a great time," Jack said. "And we'll look after you until it's all sorted out. Then you'll be back with them."

Cheryse glanced up at him.

"That's bollocks," she said. "But thanks."

Swanson clapped her on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. Right then, campers, let's hit the road."

Jack made for the door, then hesitated. "Oh, but before we do, has anyone got the key for the gun cabinet?"

Davidson shook his head. "No."

There was a jingling of metal as Swanson held up a hefty bunch of keys. "Good job I have then, eh?"

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**2:57 AM**

Cheryse hurried along beside Davidson, her knife gripped tightly in her hand again.

Jack marched on ahead, muttering below his breath.

"He's not happy about the guns, is he?" Cheryse whispered.

"No," said Davidson, shaking his head. "I wouldn't fancy being whoever took them if he finds them."

"What do you think about all that stuff he said? About the spider?"

Davidson puffed out his cheeks and shrugged. "No idea."

"Is he dangerous?" Cheryse asked.

"What? Uh, no, no he's not dangerous," Davidson said, although he felt the need to add, "Don't think so," just to cover himself.

Swanson looked back over her shoulder as she kept pace with the Captain.

"Keep up, you pair," she called. "I swear, if we get to the car park and find out there's no riot wagons left, I will not be a happy woman."

A moment later, they reached the car park. There were no riot wagons left.

Swanson, to her word, was not a happy woman.

"Bastards! The fucking robbing bastards!"

"The wagons would've been out on call, ma'am," Davidson pointed out. "You know, dealing with rioting like they're supposed to."

Swanson shouted a few more obscenities at the world at large, then took a deep breath and smoothed down her overcoat. "Right. We need a vehicle."

"My car's parked out front," Davidson said.

"Right. OK. What kind is it?"

"A Renault Clio."

Swanson buried her face in her hands.

"Fuck!" Jack shouted. "OK, fine. That'll have to do. Let's go."

They turned to find a small crowd of people gathered behind them. Cheryse raised her knife, and Davidson fumbled in his belt for his.

Swanson cast her eye over the crowd and stepped forward.

"What do you lot want?" she demanded.

Davidson spotted an elderly woman in a dressing gown among the crowd. His heart, which had been racing pretty much constantly for the past few hours, seemed to crash to a halt in his chest.

"Uh, ma'am," he began.

"No' now, detective inspector," said Swanson.

She took another step closer to the crowd. There were thirty or forty of them, most of them at least partly hunched over, their faces twisted in anger, their fingers curved into claws.

"I'm going to give you folks the count of three to fuck off," Swanson said. "Station's shut. You're on your own".

"One," she began.

"Andy?" Cheryse whispered. Davidson took her hand and squeezed it.

"Two!" boomed Swanson.

"Uh, ma'am," Davidson hissed.

Swanson held up a hand for silence. She opened hers mouth to say, "Three," but before the word could escape her lips, the crowd surged forward.


	17. get out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](http://postimg.org/image/aqtgzrcgp/) [](http://postimage.org/)

Davidson looked around, searching for a way past the onrushing horde, but there was a wall behind them, and the crowd was closing in on all other sides.

Cheryse's grip tightened in his hand. They looked at each other, and both saw fear in the other's eyes.

They were surrounded.

Trapped.

And there was nowhere left to run.

The squealing of tires took them by surprise as the SUV swung around the corner with Jack on the running board.

"Come on, get in!" Jack roared and they didn't need to be told twice as Andy pushed her into the back as he struggled in himself.

"Move it T-Boy!" Owen roared and Ianto hit the gas as Jack swung into the passenger seat was a loud bray of laughter.

Swanson's screams had died away.

Like her.

.

.

.

.

.

The street was a major thoroughfare in this part of the city.

It had two lanes of traffic in each direction, with a breakdown lane in the middle. Very few cars were going in either direction. The massive backup of south-bound traffic hadn't reached this far north yet.

Ianto saw several cars on fire, scattered on the roadway in front of a row of apartments.

Strangely, other cars were moving among the burned-out hulks, seemingly unconcerned with the incongruity.

He was gaining his sea legs on this terrible ocean.

He immediately stopped the SUV and looked for alternate routes where he could turn down a side street and avoid even being close to such destruction.

Jack was leaning around his seat, watching ahead as well.

"Jack, I'm turning. I don't think we should go anywhere near those burning cars."

Jack patted his arm in encouragement and he smiled as he made a left turn, then a quick right turn onto a narrow avenue running parallel to the main road.

They entered a more residential area. There were a few cars parked along both sides of the street, but there were also a lot of trash cans rolling around, along with lots of trash and debris, as if many of the houses had simply thrown their contents right out their doors.

More ominously, he saw odd characters walking aimlessly. Sick? Infected? Lost? Stealing?

He wasn't stopping to find out. He hit the gas, quickly pushing fifty mph down the narrow street.

The passenger window shattered as several gunshots exploded from the houses lining the right side of the street. He instinctively jerked his head as low as he could. "Everyone! Get down!"

The rear passenger-side window blew out next, followed by the one on his side. The shots were either coming from both sides or going completely through the interior.

The rear window blew out a second later, and the headrest on his seat crumpled.

_That was close!_

He glanced in the mirror. Jack had fallen over sideways into the back and shielded Rhiannon and the babies, covered with tiny pieces of safety glass. Owen and Tosh were huddled in the far back as Gwen wailed for Rhys. Andy was covering Cheryse on the floor.

"Oh, shit," he exclaimed.

He risked a sideways glance, but the shooters were well hidden. He was going much too fast. Shots continued behind them, and he could see in the side mirror a couple of men had run into the street to shoot, even as he drove away.

_Only a few seconds more ..._

He took a right turn too fast and was just able to maintain control of the SUV as it aligned itself on the new street, but scraped a car on his side.

The SUV lost some paint, but they escaped the flying bullets.

Rather than being scared, he was mad as hell again.

People were using this disaster as an excuse to—do what exactly? Were these bad people showing their true colours or good people gone wrong due to the chaos?

It had scarcely been one lousy day since law and order was put on hold. Things were going downhill fast if this was how it was going to be.

He slowed enough to take a left turn back onto the main street safely and was pleased to see they had travelled beyond the burned-out wrecks.

Were the men on the previous street the same ones who burned the cars on this one? Why would anyone randomly destroy cars and shoot at people they didn't know? Were they trying to kill him? He had no explanation that fit the circumstances, and he sure wasn't going back to interview them.

_Pardon me. Would you refrain from killing me while I ask you a few questions?_

They quickly overtook another vehicle—a cramped, blue coupe—with a family inside who looked over at him as he matched their speed for a second before accelerating past them.

He hopes Jack would have some answers later as he watched Andy and Cheryse lean against their seats without any outward sight of fear.

Maybe they knew something. Jack certainly looked less confused than he expected him to.

The open road was just as dangerous as everywhere else. Even a friendly-looking family couldn't be trusted. He could trust no one but himself and the team in the back.

In the distance, he got his first glimpse of the Gateway Arch as it twinkled in the midday sun. He had many memories seeing it as a kid—how many times had his parents excitedly pointed it out as they were driving? It was a source of fascination and pride for locals like him. A snarl of traffic came into view on the street ahead, interrupting his pleasant memories.

_Will anything be easy ever again?_

Ianto checked his mirror again and saw a little face peering back, David was watching from under his mother's arm.

Ianto felt a smile start as he watched his nephew blink as he looked around without fear, the teddy soon found and snapped back into the huddle.

He had to get out of Cardiff, off the main roads.

He had to get these wee ones safe.

Whether Gwen liked it or not, Rhys could piss into the wind for all he cared.

He had priorities!


	18. open road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](http://postimg.org/image/wse1ilbq5/) [](http://postimage.org/)

Ianto noticed that the wind had grown angrier the higher the SUV climbed, and he felt some relief when he came to a huge decline in a road that snaked like a helter skelter.

He was going to have to slow down even more because of the bendy road, but at least it was now spiralling downwards.

He released a sudden gasp and hit the brakes when something darted out into the middle of the road. Once the SUV stopped, Ianto slowly placed his head on the steering wheel and began to laugh to himself.

"A squirrel," cackled Ianto. "A pissing squirrel."

His laughter began to diminish, after all, it wasn't a squirrel that was chasing him before.

He had no idea what that was.

He moved off again, paranoid that he was still being chased. It was obvious that some kind of infection or outbreak had occurred and although Jack knew, he was now holding a frightened Toshiko as the rest of the inhabitants slept.

Andy and the girl were following in Andy's car, procured from the roadside creating a two car convoy. Jack had agreed that it might be prudent to have two, in case of a breakdown.

It had been a surreal evening even before these events had happened, with the eerie countryside and the evil weather.

As he continued to drive, his mind wandered.

Ianto eased off the gas once the cars had reached the bottom of the spiral, and once the road straightened up he remained off the gas and could feel his eyes becoming blurry with tears.

He wiped the tears away with his forearm, and cursed himself.

He had no idea what he was crying for. _Yes_ , he had just experienced a horrific episode.

 _Yes_ , he was frightened. And _yes_ , he was now at least a mile away from the possessed humans that ran after him, but what was going to be the overall outcome?

He released a harsh yawn and applied a little more gas to make this horrific, arduous journey a little quicker. He drove for another five minutes and suddenly felt the steering wheel getting heavy and pulling to one side.

"You've got to be shittin' me."

He tried to continue to drive, despite the flat tyre, but with the pouring rain and the vehicle continuing to pull to one side, he gave up and thought that he was going to do further damage to the vehicle if he continued.

He allowed the SUV to come to a stop, and Ianto looked out of his window, unsure what to do.

They couldn't sit in the cars all night! He just hoped this episode would be a lot quieter than when he first stopped.

With the paranoia urging him to hurry the hell up, he wasted no time in jumping out of the SUV, checking which tyre was bust, and headed for the boot. He didn't want to waste time by dwelling on it, but he did wonder if he should turn his headlights off. If these... _things_ were still heading his way, which he very much doubted due to sheer exhaustion, he didn't want to help them reach their target by showing them the way with his car all lit up.

However, he decided to leave the lights, so he could see what he was doing, and get a move on.

He took the tyre iron out of the boot of the car and looked over both shoulders before closing it.

"Pissing hell," Owen snapped. "This is like something out of the Twilight Zone. All we need now is the car not to start, followed by thunder and lightning."

Ianto snorted his agreement as the window went back up and Owen huffed in the passenger seat.

Ianto took out the jack and began raising the vehicle up. The rain continued to lash down, and despite leaving the car lights on, it was still too dark to see what he was doing. He felt for the nuts, took hold of his tyre iron and began unscrewing them.

With the noise of the wind and the rain, Ianto knew any danger coming from behind was going to be hard to hear, especially see, and tried to go as quick as he could.

"I need to pee" Cheryse whispered to Andy who nodded and helped her over to a copse of tree for some privacy.

It never occurred to him to tell the others.

Once the tyre was free, he pulled it off and rolled the thing away from the car, eventually swallowed up by the darkness. He speedily went for the spare in the boot, still glancing around in the darkness, and began tightening the nuts on the spare.

There were four nuts in all, he wasn't caring about the wheel trim, and by the time he had managed to put the second one on, he could hear a faint growling noise, like something from the cat family.

 _Oh no_.

He didn't want to waste any more time, and once the third nut was on he thought, to hell with the fourth, and quickly lowered the car. Leaving the jack in the road he jumped back into the SUV, threw the tyre iron onto the passenger seat and started the engine.

Screams had them turning to see Cheryse on the ground and Andy struggling with ….

Ah fuck.

As soon as the car started to move, Ianto jumped and yelped in fright when he heard a loud bang come from behind him. He turned around and could see a man that was dressed in only a hospital gown, was trying to get in by punching his way through the back window.

"Fuck" Owen struggled to get a gun out of the glove box and Ianto checked the rear view mirror, finding Jack silently awake, listening.

Ianto waited and Jack whispered, "They're both gone. Move."

Once the SUV was gathering momentum, Ianto had slipped it into third. The noise continued and Ianto looked above him in fright once he heard that this thing had managed to get on the roof of the car.

_Shit! All this time, it had been sprinting its heart out to get to me. If I had dithered and decided to put the fourth nut on..._

It wasn't worth thinking about.

Before giving the man the opportunity to punch his way through the sunroof, Ianto began to swerve the car to the left and right in the darkness, in a desperate and dangerous attempt to throw the thing off. It clung on somehow and Ianto was aware with the torrential rain, the darkness and the roads, his desperate strategy could end up becoming his eventual demise.

Owen fired a few shot off, opening the roof to the rain and Jack struggled out from under Toshiko.

Gwen struggled to the front seats as she crouched and aimed up as well.

With his full beam still on, Ianto could see another straight stretch of road and his right foot went down a few inches and increased the pressure on the gas pedal.

The car speeded up, whilst punches to his roof rained above him, and once it hit sixty, Ianto slammed the brakes, throwing the man off of the roof.

He flew twenty yards away, his body rolling along the hard road like a thrown dice, eventually coming to a stop. Ianto's breathing was loud and filled with angst; he looked out to the body that was lit up by the car's headlights, and could see that it was lying in the middle of the road, yards away. He felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach once he saw some movement coming from the body.

_Is he getting back up?_

Ianto shook his head in disbelief and released the handbrake and darted forwards, heading for the body, wheels squealing. The car went over the thing and Ianto's body jumped as if he had driven over a speed bump too fast.

He then released a sigh and hoped that that was the end of this nightmare and surreal episode he had just endured.

"Well done" Jack crooned, rubbing Ianto's arm before turning back to assess the terrified inhabitants.

Still driving and two minutes later, Ianto could see up ahead that his nightmare wasn't finished yet.


	19. walking in the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/ieqa7mwo3/) [](https://postimage.org/)

Ianto checked the road ahead – all clear – and slowed a little, raising his foot a fraction from the accelerator. The road behind them looked blurry and indistinct, like a painting in which the colours were running, slowly seeping down the canvas.

He squinted, trying to make it out, and then he noticed the same blurring creeping up the windows from the rear, as though trying to overtake the car.

Instinctively, he tapped quickly on the brake pedal for a split second, and illuminated the road behind them in the red glow of the brake lights.

His mouth dropped.

Dozens of them, bathed in crimson as though they had burst straight from hell itself, loping in the tiny hatchback's wake like dogs.

A swarming, heaving mass of shadows that blotted out the road, making the woods lining the road seem alive.

_Spiders? Hitchers!_

Ianto gasped and stamped on the accelerator wildly, all thoughts of proceeding with caution abandoned.

As his gaze swung back to the road ahead, Gwen screamed in the passenger seat, her hands held out ahead of her face protectively.

Heading straight for them, an oblivious participant in a deadly game of _chicken_ , was the town butcher, drenched in blood still in his apron, the lights of the car disappearing into his vacant, glistening eye-sockets.

His mouth was split by a wide, hungry grin, displaying a set of blood red teeth.

Ianto tried to spin the wheel, but too late.

The butcher ran straight into the radiator grille as if it were nothing more threatening than a garden sprinkler, and disappeared in a cloud of blood that filled the windscreen.

The car lurched as it bumped wildly over the body, and the wheel slipped from Ianto's grasp as Jack called out his name with alarm. The world seemed to hold its breath for a fleeting second as the car flipped, and Michael had time to see the tarmac rushing toward the driver side window before everything became twisting, shrieking metal, and darkness.

.

.

.

.

"No, no, no."

Ianto shook his head and smacked the steering wheel in anger with the palms of his hands. "Please tell me this isn't happening."

The car came to a stop and Ianto snarled, "Why now? Why the fuck did this have to happen now?"

He had no idea how many times he had stepped out of his means of transport on the barrens this particular evening, in this God-awful weather, but he was hoping this was going to be the last.

That crashed vehicle abandoned back there had been bad enough, the front grill looking like it had taken out a large animal and his stomach churned as a small voice whispered what that animal had been.

Fuck.

He now had a small matter of trying to remove a large quantity of dirt and grass off the road.

Ianto looked to the hill, to the right of the country road, and it appeared that some of the hill, probably due to the weather, had fallen away and had blocked most of the road off.

There was no chance he could drive around it, because of the lack of space available to do so, _or_ over it, as the part of the hill that had fallen away and crumbled was too high to drive over.

He went back to the car, grabbed the tyre iron off the passenger seat and, leaving the lights on and the keys dangling in the ignition.

It was agreed that Ianto, Jack and Owen would go search for a bolthole while everyone else stayed in the relative safety of the vehicle, something Gwen started to argue about, before nodding and un-holstering her weapon.

Andy and Cheryse still fresh in everyone's minds.

With little deliberation they began to jog around the huge mound of dirt and once they progressed away from the SUV, they were eventually jogging in complete darkness, drenched in panic.

Ianto felt panic setting in and glanced at Jack, calmly jogging beside him as his coat tails flapped.

Ianto resisted the urge to giggle. He was on the Barrens, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by darkness, and all he had for light was a small torch on his phone. There was no fat moon hanging in the sky, and the stars seemed to be taking a vacation as well. Even without the macabre events that had just happened, it was an outlandish and creepy night.

As he ran, holding his phone in his left hand, tyre iron in the right, he wondered if he had managed to kill the gowned man, and also wondered what the fuck it was anyway.

Ianto decided to stop running, and bent over to catch his breath.

Jack stopped and placed a hand softly on his back, encouraging him to find strength as Owen made loud raspy noises while still trying to reach them.

Ianto's breathing became shallow and his body shivered in the torrential rain that seemed to have got heavier, if that was at all possible. The light from the phone was making little difference to his visibility, so he decided to shine it on the floor to the left.

He could now see the edge of the road and used the edge as a guide.

In front of him he couldn't see anything apart from blackness, but at least he knew if he used the light it would stop him from getting near any potential drops.

His walk continued for another ten minutes, and he looked behind them.

He had no idea why he did this. He was surrounded by a blanket of darkness, and it didn't matter whether he looked in front, behind, to the right, or to the left, the scene was the same.

The road was now ascending again and the hill was making his thighs ache and his knees twinge. He had no idea how long he had to walk, as his knowledge of the Barrens was zilch, but he was beginning to think that he could die out here. With the night drawing in, the bad weather, and the lack of shelter, Ianto thought that there was a chance he could die of pneumonia. His clothes were soaked right down to his underwear, and his shivering suggested that his body was dropping in temperature.

The men were exhausted, and once they finally reached the top of the road, all the exhaustion seemed to evaporate when they saw a light in the distance.

"Oh, thank God," Owen cried.

Suddenly Ianto's thighs didn't ache anymore; his knees weren't hurting either, and as the adrenaline coursed through him, his legs had found new energy. He ran his heart out, and once the road descended, the run became easier as his soaked feet pounded the road.

He was still unsure how bendy the roads were and had to tell himself to slow down in case he continued to run straight and unknowingly tumble down a hill.

His phone wasn't making any difference, and once he saw that the flashlight was draining the hell out of his battery, now forty-one percent, he turned it off and placed it inside his pocket.

He was getting nearer to the light and it appeared to be a solitary stone house, sitting in the middle of nowhere. What a bizarre place to stay, he thought.

The rain was still hammering down, and now that he was just a matter of yards away, the brightness from the outside light of the house showed him that it was a guesthouse, and there was a small car park at the side of the place to imply that this place could have visitors.

He approached the main door and never hesitated in knocking.

Jack's soft bark of warning lost in the storm's wrath.


	20. holding back the wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/grhr1bvn3/) [](https://postimage.org/)

There was no answer when he knocked the door, so he thought he'd try the doorbell instead.

He used his forefinger to press the silver button and took a step back, patiently waiting for the owner to open the door.

"Ianto, wait it might not be a good idea to …"

He only waited seconds before trying the doorbell again, and this time the door opened.

Ianto was greeted by a man in his fifties. The man had a grey beard, wore glasses, and a large belly hung over his belt.

"My goodness," said the man, who looked aghast. "You look soaked. Come in."

"Thank you." Ianto stepped inside, ditching the tyre iron outside.

The man shut the door and looked the three men up and down. "Where's your car? Did you park at the side of the house?"

"I..." Ianto decided to refrain from telling the owner his story for fear of being thrown out.

"We broke down a mile or so away." Jack smiled softly.

"You poor things." He then took a step back and eyed their clothes. "You're going to have to get a shower. We've got some spare clothes in the back room."

He held up his hand and called out, "Angela!"

"What is it, love?" The female voice came from upstairs.

"I want you to take care of someone while I get the guests their drinks." He then turned to Ianto. "We only have three guests with us. We have plenty of room, if you need to stay the night."

"That'd be great." Ianto began scratching his head and admitted, "My friends and family back in my SUV."

The man gave off a thin smile, but there was suddenly some concern in his face. "We can sort that out."

"I'll go back and lead them here, you get things situated" Jack said softly accepting a good touch Ianto's arm and he nodded to show that he was OK as Owen looked up the stairs.

Angela appeared on the top of the stairs. She looked the same height as Ianto, five-eight, was a thin woman with short grey hair. She smiled and shook her head at Ianto like his mother used to when he was a child, and said, "Right; take your shoes off and come upstairs. Get yourself in the shower."

She then shook her head and added, "Those clothes need to go in the bin."

The gentleman of the guesthouse introduced himself as Christopher Horton, and then told Ianto that his wife would sort him out and he then disappeared.

Ianto noticed that Christopher had an annoying grunt before starting some of his sentences, but he appreciated his generosity.

Owen followed Christopher, asking about rooms and Ianto followed Angela as it appeared he was first for the shower then.

Angela gave Ianto a black bin liner to put his wet clothes in and told him that he can take them home in the morning, but the couple didn't know what had really happened, and Ianto didn't want to say anything in case they thought he was crazy.

The last thing he needed was to jeopardise his bed for the night, although guilt did plague his mind a little, knowing that those things were out there and Christopher and Angela had no idea.

Jack had squeezed his hand, a fold of paper left as he pulled away to leave and now Inaot opened it to read in the ofety of the bathroom.

 _We'll tell them in the morning_. _Whether they believe me or not, we'll tell them the truth in the morning._

Ianto nodded as note was folded and he knew that his story would be frowned upon and would sound like a terrible tale to get out of paying for the room, but he was going to worry about that in the morning. Jack and Owen there would help, and the babies would be sure to gain some credits … right?

He was pretty sure that sleep would be something he was going to struggle with on this particular night, but at least he wasn't spending the night outside, in the rain, with those things out there...somewhere.

He thanked Angela for her hospitality and went into the bathroom, shut the door behind him and stripped.

His clothes were sodden and he wrung out each piece of clothing in the sink before putting them in the black bag. He then stepped into the shower and felt the glorious hot jets hit his face.

Heaven.

He spent ten minutes in the shower and broke down for a couple of minutes.

He could have spent longer but he didn't want them thinking he was taking liberties, and dried himself off with the brown towel.

Ianto looked in the bathroom's full-length mirror. He puffed out a sigh, and although he had more pressing matters to be concerned about, he didn't like what he saw.

Ianto continued to glare in the mirror and then a voice could be heard from downstairs, which made Ianto snap out of his daydreaming.

"Quick! Come quickly!" The voice called from downstairs. It sounded like Christopher Horton.

Ianto was unsure whether Christopher was talking to him, his wife, the guests, or that he was beckoning everyone. "You have to see this! Jesus Christ. Oh Lord, help us!"

Ianto had that sinking feeling that Christopher already knew the truth now.


	21. admitting a little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/op0l5lgfj/) [](https://postimage.org/)

After quickly putting on his dark attire consisting of a T-shirt and a pair of loose black jogging bottoms, Ianto trotted down the stairs and went into the living room of the establishment.

He saw Christopher and Angela sitting on the sofa, holding hands. Another three guests that Ianto hadn't met were standing aghast, their eyes glued to the TV.

Ianto turned to the female guest and asked, "What's happening?"

He was shushed rudely by the two male guests that were standing up in the room, and they replied, "Just watch."

He did what he was told.

SKY News was showing footage that looked like re-runs, not live footage, of an area in Cumbria that had been cordoned off by the army, and whoever was advancing towards them were getting shot.

People fell as they ran towards the army, but because there were so many people running, the outcome turned out bleak for the army personnel. He continued to watch the TV and saw people throwing themselves at the barricade, using themselves as weapons, and it eventually succumbed.

Some army personnel were attacked, some ran.

Despite watching the news, it appeared that the people in the newsroom had no idea what was happening.

Although being shushed earlier, Ianto looked at the female to the side of him and asked, "What are they saying is happening? Have these people gone mad?"

The woman nodded. "Yes, I believe they have."

"Shit," Ianto mumbled to himself, and now realised what he was seeing on TV could be related to the scene he had experienced himself.

The news then went to footage of a press conference in Salford, where police and army personnel were addressing the public about what was happening and what the public should be doing to protect themselves.

Then screams were heard in the background, the camera fell to the floor on its side, and all that could be seen were long spindally legs scampering around the floor whilst one particular female fell, inches from the camera, her blue eyes were wide open as if she was dead.

Her body then jolted, her eyes quickly filled with red, and then she got back up almost a minute later.

Ianto didn't see for certain, but he was sure that the woman was attacking other people. There was chaos for a few minutes, blood fell to the floor and screams filled the room.

Spiders were seen surging across the floor as they chased people.

Everyone that initially fell, got back up, and soon the room was empty as they all fled.

Another clip was mobile phone footage that had been sent into the studio. The person taking the footage appeared to be high up in a flat, and his/her camera was showing a stationary double-decker bus being attacked by six infested people.

Once they smashed their way in, nothing could be seen, but the screams were horrendous.

A minute later, most of the people in the bus seemed to be infested and were piling out and running down the street as if they had seen something of use to them.

They didn't know whether people were being attacked because of a virus laced in vehemence from spider bites, for the taste of their blood, or their flesh.

It was then confirmed by the pasty-faced anchorman that they believed that these things were hijacking people, but the attack was very short because it only took thirty to sixty seconds for the people to change.

So as soon as the spiders infects the victim has overtaken the body, they immediately stop attacking and go on to the next victim.

It appeared that people aren't fully killed because of the quickness of the infection, but a horde surrounding one individual could result in total annihilation and no chance of reanimation.

At the bottom of the TV screen, going very quickly across, were the headlines relating to what was happening. Four headlines at the bottom of the screen were as follows: _Prime Minister calls for calm—No attacks reported outside UK—EU President wants UK quarantined—Hospital in Newcastle overrun with the infected._

"We need to board this place up," one of the men said. He then shook his head and held out a quivering hand and introduced himself to Ianto.

He was Steve, he called himself _Stripy Steve_ , obviously a nickname. Steve then introduced his friend,

James.

The female then quickly told Ianto that she was called Joan. Joan was five-four, had dark features and was plain-looking, but she seemed pleasant enough.

"So what are these things then?" the nervous-looking Steve asked. "Some kind of zombie-type—"

"They're not zombies," Ianto spoke up.

Christopher Horton remained sat on his sofa, his eyes looking at the floor, in complete shock. "You don't know for sure what they are. Nobody does."

Ianto said, "Look, this isn't something out of a comic book. They're humans that have been infected with some kind of alien infestation. They're not the dead rising, and you don't have to destroy the brain either. They're not repulsed by garlic or holy water..."

Ianto then stopped talking, as he wasn't sure about some of the stuff that he was coming out with.

"Garlic and holy water? That's vampires," Stripy Steve giggled with sarcasm.

Ignoring Steve, Ianto continued, "They can run really fast and their eyes are red."

Ianto wasn't entirely sure of his last statement.

His mind then began to wander about the gowned man. He was certain he had finally killed him when he ran him over.

"How do you know all that? You've only been watching the telly for the last ten minutes," Joan scoffed.

The silence suffocated the group and although the TV was still blaring, now showing footage of Glasgow's Central Station being overrun with what the media were calling now, _The Hitchers_ , most of the people gazed at the floor in disbelief.

"These things..." Ianto cleared his throat loudly, enough to get everyone's attention. "I think they're already here, in the Barrens."


	22. honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/3xtt27uun/) [](https://postimage.org/)

After Ianto had told the small group his story, he ended with the sentence: "So...does anyone want to ask me any questions?"

The stunned group remained silent, all looking at one another. The others had arrived back and were settling in as he spoke, nodding their silent agreement to his story.

The scenes on the muted TV were bad enough, but now they had someone in the room that already had experienced these things and had lived to tell the tale.

Christopher grunted and asked, "So you had knowledge of these things before you were attacked yourself?"

Ianto shook his head. "I had no idea what was happening. One minute I was at work having a normal evening with Owen here, the next these things came out of the dark and attacked everyone. They had turned a minute later."

"Because of the...spiders?" Joan queried.

"I know. It sounds like an episode out of the Hammer House of Horror programme, but that's what happened. I saw it for myself." Owen scratched just above his eyebrows and took a quick breath in. "The man in the gown attacked us."

It was now Angela's turn, who squeezed her husband's hand tighter with the horrendous news that she was hearing. "And is this gowned man dead?"

Ianto lifted his arms up and shrugged in unison. His body language suggested that he didn't know. "I hit him with my car."

"It was all happening so fast" Rhiannon cut in, "Please, the kids don't want to hear this again."

Angela began to sob and admitted, "I thought for a second that being out here we would be safe."

"We are, to a certain degree." Owen was trying to put a positive slant on the situation.

"What do you mean?" asked Stripy Steve.

"Well, if we were in the city, it'd be a fucking massacre."

"I live in my apartment on the fourth floor." James looked to be getting angry. " _I_ would have been okay."

"No you wouldn't," said Ianto, confidently. "I saw one of these thing head-butt its way into this couple's car. Even if there was just one of them, your door wouldn't have stayed on its hinges."

Ianto had asked the owners for a drink of water.

The owner, Christopher Horton, stood up from the couch and announced that he needed the toilet. Ianto was unsure that he actually needed the toilet, or that Christopher wanted somewhere private to cry.

They all sat down when more breaking news appeared, and Christopher refrained from going to the toilet and put the volume up on the TV.

Ianto shook his head. _What now?_

It was new footage. The footage was from CCTV cameras, and it was showing an incident on Sauchiehall Street in Glasgow's City Centre. The infected were in a group of eleven, running, and one of them had spotted something. As soon as that one individual veered left, they all followed its path and smashed their way, using their fists and heads, through the shop, entering a Holland and Barrett store. They assumed that a human had been spotted and that was the reason for the change of direction.

A worker hiding in the shop, maybe. This proved to the group that barricading was going to be a waste of time, which frightened the hell out of them.

The spiders swarmed across the ground like an oil spill, surrounding the feet of those already taken by the Hitchhikers.

The anchorman's lips were moving, but it was hard to take in the information. It was stressed that experts had no idea where the spiders had come from, but some experts lambasted this statement and a researcher claimed some people knew exactly how this had developed into such a catastrophe.

He told the people on SKY News that he was certain that they had come from the research centre in

Newcastle where scientists had been developing a vaccine for cancer on certain animals and insects.

There had been reports, denied by the government that a scientist dressed in a white gown attacked people in the centre a few days ago after being bitten by spiders he had been experimenting with.

God, end of the world and they still don't want to admit there are aliens?

The CCTV had been disabled.

A day later, there were violent riots on the streets of Newcastle and Sunderland that ended in bloodshed.

A minute later, another piece of film had been sent in from a member of the public. It was one of the most frightening pieces of film, probably because it was real, Ianto had ever seen. It was videoed by mobile phone, so the footage was predictably a little shaky.

An unnamed person was taking footage of his neighbour running out of her home. Initially the footage that was being filmed was filming the street, but a scream had distracted the phone-owner, and the woman ran out of her house screaming.

"Rhia, take the kids to the other room" Ianto said softly, as he swallowed.

It appeared that the woman on the screen was being chased by one of her own children and was eventually taken down in the street by two other 'hitchers', as the media were beginning to call them. The spiders chasing the children swarming past to the mother.

The shaky phone zoomed in and the woman's throat was bulging as the spider crawled into her mouth. Blood poured out of her and Ianto immediately thought she was screwed. The spiders quickly backed away from her, as if she was on fire, and now she was infested. Her body jerked the once and she quickly got to her feet and began running towards the next melee. Thirty seconds had passed and the woman dropped to the floor and never got back up.

It appeared that the blood loss from her torn-out throat was the demise for this newly infested woman, and the anchorman informed the public that another infested human had died from being hit by a car.

The newsman read off a few bullet points and told the public that these things can die like normal humans, and that they're infested with something that they have no knowledge of.

People who knew what was going on were based in Newcastle's Research Centre, and they were all now infested or dead.

"We're fucked," Joan cried. "We are all totally fucked!"

Jack was struggling in the front door with wood in his arms, surprised when Ianto rushed to him, not to take the wood but to embrace him.

It was worth getting wet again for.


	23. preparing for the long night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/9g5dl0pyn/) [](https://postimage.org/)

"Lock the house up," Christopher said with terror in his voice. "And everybody else should lock themselves in their rooms."

"Fuck that," James snapped. "I'm out of here."

He then turned to Stripy Steve and asked, "Are you coming?"

Steve shook his head. He looked terrified. He was going nowhere. "Let's not be rash."

Jack held out his hand to calm the situation, and cleared his throat before starting his next sentence. "We're probably in the safest place. If you drive back home, you're going to be heading towards a populated area."

Joan added, "More people means more of those...Hitchers, I think the news called them."

"Good point." Christopher nodded in James' direction. "The best thing for us all to do is block the doors and windows, and I'll get my shotgun from the bedroom. Then we can grab some food and water and hide in the basement."

"Well that just sounds fantastic," James derided. "And as for blocking the doors and windows—didn't you see those things on the TV? They were head-butting their way through thick glass to get at someone. Not to mention the bloody spiders. What are we supposed to do? Stand there with cans of bloody bug spray?"

"I like him" Owen said to nobody in particular.

"He does have a point," Ianto intervened, and looked at Stripy Steve, Joan and the Hortons. "I've seen it for myself."

Angela sighed, and trying to stick up for her husband she said, "Well we shouldn't make it easy for them at least."

"Look," this time Stripy Steve was having a turn to talk. "It's not set in stone that these things are going to come here anyway. If we keep the lights off, make sure we're not seen, and not make a noise, I don't see why they'd come here."

His six foot frame remained standing and he scratched at his short grey hair, waiting for a response.

"According to the news," Joan began, "they still have human senses, they're just...I don't know, possessed in some way."

"Infested," Ianto corrected.

Christopher added, "So if they have human traits—"

"They _are_ human," Ianto snapped. "They're just infested. I'm not saying they can drive a car or read a fucking newspaper, but they can run, they can climb... they can bite. I don't even know why they're attacking others. They don't have enough time to devour another person. You heard the news. As soon as the infestation kicks in after thirty seconds or so, they back away."

"But they do eat us," Joan said. "Just not much."

"I suppose it's like a greedy kid at a party," Owen began to speak. "A kid takes one bite of a cake, then moves on to the next."

Ianto laughed, "That's probably the worst analogy I've ever heard."

"Fuck you."

"We're wasting time squabbling amongst ourselves." Joan ran her fingers through her shoulder-length, brown hair. "Let's do what Christopher suggested, and hide the fuck in the basement."

Ianto liked Joan.

She was okay-looking—he was hardly an oil painting himself, he knew that, but she did seem to cuss a lot. He had found out that she worked in a shop and he was certain that wasn't the way she spoke to her customers. Ianto didn't know if that was the way she was or the situation itself was making her swear, as they were all on edge.

"Agreed" Jack said as he finished a whispered conversation with Gwen and Tosh, "We need to secure this place and settle in. Settle down and stop sniping at each other. We might be here for a while."

Christopher showed Ianto and Stripy Steve where the spare bedding was.

They grabbed cushions, quilts, and blankets and brought them down to the basement, whilst the rest were gathering food and liquid.

Christopher opened the door that was situated in the kitchen, and the two men went down to the area where it was the size of an average bedroom; a few crates of booze were present and the floor was carpeted.

Ianto was surprised how warm it was in there; he always imagined basements to be dark, cold, and damp places, only fit for rats. It was lit up by a solitary sixty watt bulb, and it could be bolted and locked from the inside.

As the people started going into the basement, Ianto stepped out and could see Christopher standing in the living room, tears fell from his eyes. Ianto walked back over to the owner and stood to the side of him. Both men looked out of the living room window, into the evening. It was now pitch black outside, but at least the rain had died.

"I think we better close the curtains," suggested Ianto.

Christopher nodded his head in agreement and sighed, "Please tell me this isn't happening."

Ianto placed a comforting hand on Christopher's shoulder. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Come on, you daft fucks!" yelled Joan from the kitchen. "What are you two standing around for?"

Both Christopher and Ianto looked at one another and shook their heads.

"She's got a mouth like a sewer, that one," laughed Christopher.

Ianto went over to the window and shut the curtains.

"I'll be just a sec," Christopher informed Ianto. "I'll need a pee if we're going to stay in the basement all night."

Ianto nodded and went into the underground room.

Two minutes later, Christopher came downstairs, holding his shotgun.

Jack was still standing back, letting Christopher be in command and Ianto couldn't help wondering if it was out of respect for the homeowner, or because he knew it was all futile anyway.

Ianto hadn't asked, didn't want to know.

But he did wonder.

Where was Jack's precious bloody Doctor?


	24. bug in or bug out ... with the bugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/pxt5lzysv/) [](https://postimage.org/)

They all made themselves as comfortable as possible.

After watching the footage on the TV, everybody agreed that any kind of barricading would be pointless. If those things were out there and wanted to get in, they were sure that they'd get in regardless if the doors and windows were blocked or not.

Even the basement door was breakable, it was just well-hidden. It was situated in the kitchen and they hoped, and some prayed, that this was enough to keep them safe if any more of the Runners went in the guesthouse's direction and broke in.

"So what now?" Rhiannon asked.

Jack looked a little annoyed that people assumed he had all the answers; just because he was the obviously the leader of the group, didn't mean he knew what the fuck to do next.

"Just stay here till the morning." Christopher began scratching his huge belly; Angela's arm was hooked in his and her head was resting on his shoulder. She looked exhausted. "All the lights are off in the house, but if those things get in and we keep quiet, we should be okay. It didn't say on the news anything about their sense of smell; just that they can do what other humans can."

"I've told you," Ianto snapped. "The TV said that they _are_ human, just infested."

"Whatever they are; staying in here is our best option." Jack then looked to James, who was still eager to get out of the Barrens. "You honestly think you'd make it home? The M6 will be grid-locked. You'd have to go on foot, and I can tell you now how that'll work out for you."

"Yeah, well." James sniffed and sat down on the floor where the rest of the group were sitting, almost in a circle, as if they were about to perform a séance. "I've got a family to get to. Anybody else?"

Christopher Horton lowered his head and breathed out. He held his wife's hand and nodded. "We have family. Thankfully living overseas."

That was all the information Christopher could reveal before breaking down. As he was being comforted by Angela, his wife, Joan felt that it was her turn to say something. She added, "I never had kids. I got divorced before the subject came up. I'm thirty-four so the boat hasn't sailed just yet."

Rhiannon tried to lighten the mood. "Maybe you'll squeeze one out in a few years."

"Maybe." Joan smiled, but there was sadness behind the smile as she looked down at little Micha. "That's if they can get this mess sorted out."

A silence enveloped the room and all that could be heard was the odd cough and the occasional clearing of a throat.

Stripy Steve spoke up. "I've got two daughters. Six and nine. They live with their mum back in Bristol. I still live there, but me and the missus are separated now. I came up here for a break, after losing my job."

"Why do they call you Stripy Steve anyway?" Gwen had asked the very same question that Ianto was going to ask next.

The man gave off an embarrassed grin and shrugged his shoulders. "It's really quite a crap story. About ten years ago, I was working in a factory and there were about four Steves in there. I always wore polo shirts with stripes so..."

He never finished his sentence, but he didn't need to.

James pulled out his phone and tutted.

"No battery life?" queried Joan.

"Nearly dead, and I can't get a signal anyway."

Christopher Horton chuckled, "The barrens aren't the best place to get a phone signal, especially when you're stuck in a basement."

"Leave it," Joan said. "The harder your phone works to get a signal, the more your battery will drain."

"The charger's in the room."

"We'll get it in the morning," Jack said with confidence. "Let's just focus on getting through the night."

Ianto welcomed the quiet that enveloped the group. The bickering he could do without, after the evening he had had. He thought back to his Nan's funeral, and was glad the remainder of his family were okay.

It seemed like days since it had all happened, but in truth, it had only been hours.

Jack suddenly announced that it would be advantageous if he turned off the basement light, in case something did come in and the small crack of light could be seen in the kitchen.

No one protested.

He suggested that people could use their phones for light, with what life they had left.

Christopher stood up, shotgun in hand, loose shells rattling in his pocket, and turned off the light.

Ianto was glad of the darkness and took up his position where he was going to spend the night and, hopefully, get a little sleep, if that at all was possible.

There was shuffling in the dark and he panicked for a moment before realizing it was Jack moving to sit behind him, against the wall and his arms enveloped him from behind, pulling him into a loose embrace.

His throat swelled so much that he found it almost difficult to breathe. Ianto tried to keep his sobbing down in volume, but was finding it difficult, and ended up letting go.

The sound of others sobbing around him was comforting somehow as he buried his face in Jack's chest, taking lungfuls of his scent.

For three minutes he cried, and once he was finished, Rhiannon asked if he was okay.

Ianto never answered. His swollen throat refused him the verbal access, but he did nod, which was pointless in the dark.

"I've got him" Jack said into the darkened room, "He's OK now."

Ianto closed his eyes and prayed for sleep.

The night was going to last forever.


	25. daylight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/oqfod5pm7/) [](https://postimage.org/)

Predictably, the hours dragged to the early morning, and little sleep occurred within the group.

Some dosed off and kept others awake with their snoring. Some cussed in the darkness, whilst Ianto and Joan spent some of the night getting to know one another, by whispering to one another in the darkness.

James had told them to shut up twice, but Joan had told him bluntly to 'eat shit'.

Joan had a potty mouth on her, but Ianto thought strangely that it was an endearing quality for Joan, as she wasn't afraid to stand up for herself whoever the individual was.

Owen was quite taken and asked her if she wanted to adopt him more than once.

Baby Micha cried intermittently while David was eerily silent, wanting his Mother as he stared owlishly at everyone, his teddy bear missing.

Gwen still lamented her 'Rhys' while cuddling up to Owen and Jack resisited the urge to point out the fact that she hadn't thought of Rhys while with Owen but held it back as he watched Toshiko slip into the other armpit, defiantly staring Gwen down as she laid her head on Owen's chest forcing Gwen to turn her face.

_Well done little dragon._

Ianto had miraculously managed three hours sleep, and his eyes widened once Christopher spoke up. "Right guys. Watch your eyes."

Because they were in the basement, they were still in the darkness, and they knew what Christopher meant. They covered their eyes in preparation for the sixty-watt bulb the owner was about to put on.

The light filled the room, and Angela and James were still sleeping. It was apparent that each person, with their sheets and pillows, had tried to make themselves as comfortable as possible during the night.

Christopher Horton then walked up the steps to the door that led into the kitchen.

"And where the fuck are you going?" snarled James, now awake. His nervousness was making him irritable and he stood to his feet, ready to approach the owner of the place.

"Its morning," Christopher spoke up. "And we can't stay in here forever. People need to eat, to drink."

"To go for a piss," Joan said bluntly, which made Ianto smile.

Stripy Steve looked unnerved with Christopher standing next to the door, and James wasn't too impressed either.

"This is _my_ place!" Christopher snapped, noticing some of the looks he was getting. "I'm not hiding in my own basement. It's my responsibility to check to see if the place is safe. If it is, then we can go back to the ground floor of the house. For those who still don't feel safe, you can stay down here."

"It should be safe," Stripy Steve spoke up, trying to convince himself. "We never heard anything during the night, did we?"

The group shook their heads.

Christopher put his shotgun under his arm and slid back the bolt. "It needs to be checked out all the same."

Ianto tucked his gun into pocket and yelled, "Wait up! I'm coming with you."

"Ianto?" Rhiannon said softly and he distractedly waved her down.

With his heart in his mouth, Ianto remained behind Christopher, as the huge fifty-six-year-old gently pushed open the basement door. Both men looked at one another, unsure what to do next.

Jack slid up beside them, he Webley drawn and he nodded to show he was coming as well.

Christopher stepped outside of the basement and into the kitchen.

Angela told him that she loved him, but he never responded back verbally, he just looked at her and flashed a smile. Ianto was next to step out into the kitchen, and he turned to Joan.

"I'm gonna close the door now. Make sure it's bolted, just in case..." Ianto couldn't finish the sentence.

"Just in case you don't make it?" she said.

Ianto half-laughed and shrugged. "I don't know."

"If your _they're still human, but infested_ theory is true, then you'll know where we are anyway, won't you? If you get hitched, your brain could still remember that we're here, in the basement."

"I'm not sure it works like that." Ianto threw his arms in the air, shook his head in defeat and admitted truthfully, "I haven't a pissing clue."

"You have such a potty mouth" Jack whispered, leaning in and kissing him gently before stepping around him into the kitchen.

The men hesitantly walked through the dusky kitchen and Christopher signalled for Ianto to stop walking. The fifty-six-year old leaned over the kitchen's sink and peered through the blinds, and looked out onto his back garden.

"Anything?" whispered Jack.

Christopher shook his head. "No, but it's as foggy as hell outside. That's the trouble when you live in a hilly area, even at _this_ time of year."

He went to grab the doorknob of the kitchen with his left hand, shotgun in his right, and twisted the knob ever so slowly. He pulled the door open and looked down the hallway where the front door could be seen. It was still closed and looked to be still on its hinges.

Ianto's face looked relieved. "I know we never heard anything last night, but at least that confirms that no one tried to get in."

Christopher agreed, but then held his shotgun horizontally with both hands.

"We'll check the place out, just to be on the safe side, then the people in the basement can get themselves a drink, go to the toilet..."

"We should put the TV on. See if this thing is being contained, or if there's been any other kind of positive progress."

Jack nodded. " _After_ we've checked the house."

Once the guest living room was found to be vacant of anything untoward, the nervous men crept upstairs to check the bathroom and every guest room. Everything was how it should be, and this made Christopher feel relaxed a little. He leaned the shotgun against the wall of the landing, and stepped into his own room that faced the front of the house. He drew the curtains back and Ianto walked and stood next to him.

It was probably a view that Christopher Horton had seen many times before, living in the barrens, but it made Ianto's spine shudder in fright.

It was seven in the morning, and the whole of the barrens appeared to be suffocated with thick, dense fog. Ianto couldn't even see the road that should have been twenty yards from the place, and with what had occurred the evening before, as well as the images on the TV, it was a chilling sight to behold.

"Come on," Jack beckoned. "Let's get the others out."


	26. Gate crashers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/4lddzkxyn/) [](https://postimage.org/app.php)

They made their way downstairs and Christopher peered through the window, near the front door.

"I'll tell the others it's clear," said Ianto.

Christopher never responded and continued to look outside, almost as if he was hypnotised in some way.

Jack started to get a drink of water.

Ianto went into the kitchen and knocked the basement door. "You can come out."

The bolt slid open almost immediately, as if someone was standing behind it, waiting, and the first to come out was Stripy Steve.

"Thank goodness for that," he huffed. "My bladder's bursting."

"Well, hurry up," shouted James after Stripy Steve, who was now halfway up the stairs, heading for the bathroom. "I'm bursting as well."

Angela and Joan were next to come out and Ianto shut the door after them, then they headed for the living room.

"Did you check the whole house?" Rhiannon queried.

Ianto nodded. "Like I said before, we would have heard if any of those things had got in. I was gonna put the telly on, see what's happening."

Joan smiled. "Good idea."

"I'll get the tea on, lovey," said Angela, "then once we've had refreshments we should get back into the basement."

There was a sudden crash and both Angela and Joan gasped.

Two figures, dressed in green, crashed through the window of the front room and immediately went for the nearest people that were in there, James and Angela.

Both of them screamed as they were taken to the ground and mauled by the two possessed men dressed in black attire.

Ianto knew who they were immediately, and how they had become what they were. They must have been the bloody Unit following the SUV.

James was holding his arm out in defence, but it was being torn to shreds by one of the infested-looking men. Angela was bitten on the shoulder and was receiving more bites to the rest of her body.

The spiders hadn't arrived yet but the sound of water flowing made Ianto's hair stand up.

The screams shot fear through everyone else.

Some ran, others, like Ianto, were paralysed with fear.

The two things that had crashed through the window were on all fours, and stopped biting and chewing and devilishly glared at Christopher and Ianto with bloodshot eyes.

Christopher stood open-mouthed once his eyes took in the sight of James and Angela, especially Angela, lying on the floor, covered in blood, twitching.

The male owner of the establishment produced tears for his wife, and raised the gun at the first turned being. The blast threw the thing backwards, tearing a hole into its stomach, and it never got back to its feet.

The other monster ran for Ianto and jumped at him.

Both men fell to the floor and Ianto held the thing away from him with his one hand against its throat.

He could hear Jack yelling as Gwen screamed and he saw Toshiko lashing out with her boot before Jack managed to pull her back.

It was strong, it was very strong, and once Ianto could see blood spewing from its mouth and landing on his black shirt, he took his gun and rammed it into the eye socket and pulled the trigger.

Another blast could be heard, which made Ianto jump. Christopher had just shot James. Ianto was sure that it was because he had turned from the wounds he had sustained. This was confirmed when his wife, Angela, quickly got to her feet.

Her eyes were bloodshot and she snarled in a way that made both Ianto, and especially Christopher, realise that she wasn't the Angela Horton of old, and now had a savage infestation coursing through her body and had turned her into this vicious Hitcher.

She quickly lunged at Christopher and whilst he stood in shock, too slow to act, she tore his throat out, the blood splashing all over his shoes. He didn't have time to scream.

He just dropped the gun and fell to the floor with a deathly thump.

Ianto had finally managed to push his own defunct attacker off of him, and staggered to his feet. The thing that used to be Angela quickly twisted its neck in Ianto's direction, bits of her husband's bloody throat still being chewed, and ran at Ianto.

Jack tried to grab her, but she was too quick. They wrestled on the floor and her strength frightened him. He didn't know whether she was stronger than him, or she simply had more aggression, giving her that edge.

Suddenly she collapsed on top of him, motionless. Jack looked up and saw Tosh standing above him with a brass ornament in her right hand; blood was dripping off of it.

Ianto managed to get Angela off of him and noticed she was still twitching.

She wasn't quite dead yet. Ianto was exhausted and went over to Christopher.

He put his hand in Christopher's pockets and took out the extra shells. He then took the shotgun and reloaded it.

Christopher's body then suddenly twitched, and his red eyes opened.

"He's turned!" Rhiannon screamed.

She was right. He _had_ turned, but what Ianto had noticed was that although Christopher had turned into one of these freaks, he was already dying. The blood continued to pump out of his throat and a half-snarl was released. The infested Christopher saw the two individuals, standing, staring at him. He tried to push himself up, but the lack of blood had weakened him, and then his body dropped back to the floor. He never got up again.

Joan muttered, "Well, that confirms that they can die just like us."

Ianto shook his head. "That's because they are human, just infested. I'm sick of repeating myself."

"Well don't then. Miserable twat." Owen muttered.

It was surreal beyond all recognition; there was five bodies in the living room, Angela had now stopped twitching, and the blood that covered the laminated floorboards of the living room seemed too much.

"Why didn't you used the Webley?" Ianto asked softly as Jack checked him over and Jack replied that he had limited ammo. Ianto felt that niggle in the back of his head that Jack was still holding something back. He was not as afraid or confused as the rest of them. Ianto decided that in time, Jack would tell him.

Ianto went to the front door, opened it, and then silently walked outside. He took a seat on the step, and rested the shotgun on his lap.

Gwen stammered, "Wh-what the fuck are you doing? We need to get back in the basement."

Ianto looked out into the fog.

It had cleared a little, and he could just about see the road. After the violent melee that had just taken place, Ianto welcomed the quiet.

Gwen then tapped him on the shoulder, rather hard, trying to get his attention and snap him out of his temporary paralysis. She was convinced he was in shock.

"Come on, Ianto. It's dangerous out here."

"The window's fucked."

"We should board it up."

"What with? And what's the point anyway? You saw those things crash through the living room window as if it was made of paper. You saw what they could do on the TV."

They remained outside and they both heard it, but Gwen was the first to speak up.

"You hear that?"

Ianto nodded, stood to his weary feet, and got the shotgun ready.

The light buzzing was slowly becoming louder. It was obvious that it was from a vehicle, but who could it be?

Ianto then turned his attention to the left. There was another sound he could hear, but what was it? It sounded like the slapping of feet on tarmac, like somebody running, but it was hard to tell with the growing sound of the engine advancing from the right, and the thick fog wasn't helping matters either.

Apart from a section of the road in front of the guesthouse, nothing else could be seen. Ianto seemed unruffled, unless it was the shock paralysing his feelings.

Gwen, however, could now hear both sets of sounds and seemed spooked.

"Let's go inside," she tried to beckon Ianto. "We better see how Stripy Steve is. He went to the toilet."

"He's probably hiding in there after hearing the noises," said Ianto.

"I know."

"Get him and go into the basement." Ianto spoke coldly; his demeanour worried Gwen. Was he having a nervous breakdown?

Why wasn't he frightened?

Was he still in shock?

The evening before he had broken down, now he had just escaped an attack and was now the bearer of a shotgun, waiting. For what? She didn't know.

"I don't like the sound of those footsteps," she confessed. "Let's get into the basement."

The groan of the vehicle to the right suggested it wasn't far away at all and from the left, the first Hitcher appeared through the fog. It twisted its neck to scan where it was and it appeared that the fog had confused and disorientated it like it would anyone else. It was only twenty yards away from them.

"Oh Christ!" Gwen moaned.

Ianto lifted up the shotgun and held it at waist height.

It clocked Ianto and Gwen, snarled viciously like something from the cat family, and then ran at Ianto with vicious speed. He squeezed the trigger and the cartridge took some of the left side of its waist away. Blood hit the floor, and the creature squealed and fell, but it soon clambered to its feet.

"Again!"Gwen yelled.

Ianto shivered with fright now and allowed it to get closer before shooting it in the stomach. It flew back a few yards and Ianto felt his shoulder twinge in pain from the gun's kickback.

The jeep crashed into the bank on the right, and there was an eerie peacefulness that followed. Ianto then looked at the thing he had shot. It looked like the driver who was injured in the stationary car from the night before.

"We better check on whoever's in the car," Gwen suggested with a quiver in her voice.

Ianto and Gwen walked off the premises, aware and paranoid that the fog could be hiding other nasty surprises.


	27. don't want to but have to

Ianto and Gwen stood aghast at the black jeep, and then both sets of eyes turned to the body on the ground.

Ianto briefly mumbled that the thing had been hit by the Jeep, but the other question was: Who was that in the vehicle?

The driver of the jeep eventually got out the car; she appeared to be hysterical, and Gwen and Ianto could now see why. She shut the door behind her and ran to the two individuals that were standing by the entrance of the guesthouse, the living room window smashed in to the left, and ignored the fact that Ianto was standing with a shotgun.

"Help me!" the woman screamed, and pointed to her jeep. "My...my...son!"

Gwen comforted the woman as Ianto walked forwards and stepped onto the road, the woman on the floor still twitching to the left of him, and peered into the back of the car.

A boy of seven was strapped in the back and was struggling to get free, but this boy had turned, and as soon as he clocked Ianto's face, it struggled even more to get free.

The belt was still in its lock, and it was obvious this thing had no idea how to unlock itself and why it was unable to move. Ianto was certain that once that thing was free, the windows of the car may as well be made of paper. He then noticed that the passenger window nearest the boy had been smashed.

Ianto then looked to the side of him and watched as the Hitcher that was hit by the vehicle continued to twitch on the floor. Ianto turned the gun around and slammed the butt into the side of the woman's head.

Its twitching ceased.

He then turned to the woman who was being comforted by Gwen, and said coldly, "Your son. You know he's turned, don't you?"

She nodded her head, but he could see she was unsure.

He tried again. "Your son...he's infested. There's a thing spreading through the country..." Ianto then stopped in mid-sentence. "Was your son complaining of spiders?"

She nodded and struggled to speak through her sobbing. "I was driving away and...one of those...those...things smashed its head through the passenger window and...and...my Tyler."

Both Ianto and Gwen looked at one another as Jack strode over to look for himself.

Jack said to Ianto, "He's gonna get out of that car eventually, if we leave it too late."

Ianto sighed sadly, knowing that the boy was going to have to go. But he didn't want to just do it and give the poor woman more trauma to deal with; he needed to explain to her what he was about to do and why it was absolutely necessary.

Ianto walked up to her and before he had chance to speak, she cried, "You need to kill him, don't you?"

"He's still human," Ianto tried to explain, "but he'll never go back to the Tyler that you knew and loved. He _can't_ change back. If he gets out, he'll attack us. Then _we_ change."

Gwen added, "We need to do this for the sake of saving ourselves and, in the long term, others as well. Didn't you see the news?"

Not answering her query, the woman cried, "He's my boy. He's all I have left."

Gwen placed her arm around her comfortingly, and spoke, "We're sorry, but what Ianto has said is correct."

"But how is this happening?"

"Nobody knows." Jack spoke up and constantly twisted his neck to the jeep, paranoid that the kid would eventually get out. "I was attacked myself last night. We barely made it, but thankfully we found this place."

Ianto could then see the woman staring at his clothes; they were covered in blood. Noticing this, he tried to explain, "We've just had an incident, minutes before you turned up in your car. I'll explain later, but we need to go somewhere safe and we need to take care of your boy."

Gwen then said to the distraught woman, "You have no idea what we're dealing with—none of us do really, but take a walk into the living room, have a look around and see for yourself."

"But don't touch them," Ianto instructed.

The woman gave Ianto a strange look with her teary, bloodshot eyes, then nodded the once before slowly stepping into the establishment. Two minutes later, she returned, even more fretful than before.

"That's what we're dealing with," Ianto sighed. "It'll take a while to sink in, but just imagine what the cities are going through. Believe it or not, we're probably in the best place."

"I can't do this," the woman cried. "I can't cope with this."

Jack added, "I know this is so fucked up and surreal, but you need to listen to Ianto."

For two more agonising minutes they tried to explain to the woman, who had introduced herself as Sue that her real son was never coming back.

Jack was growing impatient, because they were standing outdoors and were totally exposed.

Finally, Sue nodded her head, and agreed that Tyler may as well be dead with the virus that he had.

She tearfully said to Jack, "Before you do anything, let me say goodbye to my son."

Aware that one of those things could emerge from out of the dense fog, Ianto reluctantly shadowed Sue as she strolled over to her car to say her goodbyes to

Tyler. The jeep's exterior had dents to the front where she had hit the Hitcher but apart from that, it was still in working order.

Both Ianto and Sue looked into the passenger window to see her once-son manically, and desperately, trying to get out of his seat, spitting blood from his mouth.

Right away, after witnessing that scene, Sue knew that that wasn't her son. Her real son wasn't coming back; she knew he was beyond help.

She timidly placed her hand on the passenger window and cried, almost falling to her knees. Ianto could feel the swelling in his throat and was fighting the tears himself at this heartbreaking scene. He looked to either side of him, aware that hanging around for longer than necessary was putting their lives at risk, and was fearing the worst as he stared into the fog.

In his mind he envisaged one of those things running through the mist, as Sue pressed her face against the window and cried as she glared at her changed son.

Jack was in two minds whether to pull her back in case her son managed to get free from his seatbelt, but he refrained from doing so as he saw Ianto's grief as well. He looked all around once more, scared shitless. He was holding the shotgun, but wasn't sure he could react in time if one of those things would come sprinting through the dense fog.

Sue stroked the pane of glass and cried, "My boy. My poor, poor boy."

Ianto looked over his shoulder to see Gwen filling up. The 'farewell' was a lot shorter than Ianto had anticipated, and Sue turned on her heels and placed her hand on his shoulder and said, "I know he's beyond help. I know he has to be dealt with. Please, make it quick."

She walked into the guesthouse and Gwen disappeared inside with her, telling them that she'd be back out once she had got the woman and Stripy Steve into the basement.

When Gwen finally returned, she sighed and asked, "So how are we gonna do this?"

Unsure, Jack said with little confidence in his voice, "I'll blast him through the exposed window, and then go back into the basement for a nervous breakdown."

"This is so weird." Ianto sighed softly next to him.

"You ain't wrong." Jack replied, feeling a hand slid into his coat pocket, strangely comforting.

"The window isn't fully smashed through." Gwen investigated the passenger window and added, "You'd get a clearer shot if I just opened the door and then...bam!"

"Bam?" Ianto shook his head at Gwen's choice of words. "Are you actually taking this seriously? That's a little boy in there."

Gwen placed her hand on the door handle and peeped over to Jack. "You ready?"

Ianto shook his head and glared at the female. With her dark attire, her black leggings and T-shirt, she looked like an assassin. He was in similar clothing after his clothes from the night before were soaked. Gwen's hair was kept obediently behind her ears and her face highlighted that she appeared more confident than Ianto. His face quivered in fright and his hands shook.

"Let's just get this over with," Jack snapped impatiently.

"Okay."

After taking a deep breath in, Jack nodded at Ianto to open the car door. Ianto walked over to open it and Gwen responded by raising her gun as well.

In her head, the words: _he's beyond help_ , swirled in her mind like cigar smoke and she took a breath out.

Ianto opened the door quickly and Jack squeezed the trigger. Gwen's firing a second later.

Ianto couldn't help but look, and the bang made his frame jump. The rear and the furthest passenger window were decorated in blood that flew out, decorating the inside of the car.

Gwen lowered the gun with one hand and placed her other hand over her mouth.

She sobbed and Ianto shut the door and peered inside. The head of the boy was almost missing, and blood and brain matter was all over the interior of the vehicle.

Ianto turned quickly and threw up on the road, the vomit hitting it with a loud splat. Wiping his mouth, he walked over to Jack and they both hugged.

"We need to go into the basement right now." Ianto's tone was strong, but not threatening or rude. "We can't be standing out here for a second longer, especially if these things are attracted by noise."

"Maybe we shouldn't have used the gun," Gwen said.

"I couldn't leave him. Imagine if he'd got out of the car." Jack snapped.

"We could have knifed him." Gwen quickly placed her hand over her mouth, realising what she had said. She never thought in a million years she'd be having a conversation about killing a seven-year-old boy.

"And what if he managed to grab you, or infest you?"

She never answered his query. She turned on her heels and went back inside the guesthouse, now heading for the basement.

A fraught Ianto followed behind with Jack.


	28. what if starts

They got into the basement and Ianto bolted the door; he headed for the bottom of the steps with the shotgun in his hand, and the loose shells in his right pocket rattled as he made his steps.

That Jack had handed it to him was not unusual, he was the one to stow gear. It had been an automatic action that was comforting. In the midst of all this, Jack was still in control.

He stood the gun up against the wall, and took a sit down next to a clearly-embarrassed Stripy John who had returned from the bathroom.

Tosh was a few yards away and comforted a distraught Sue.

Ianto lowered his head, now exhausted as the adrenaline waned, and never uttered a word to the panic-stricken Stripy John who was sitting silently next to him.

Rhiannon was crooning softly to her children as she watched her brother quietly rocking. Whatever had happened out there, she knew it had been bad.

Ianto listened as Tosh did her best to comfort Sue, and heard the two women conversing with one another.

Her name was Sue Hart. Her deceased son, Tyler, was only seven years old, and she was a divorced lady, thirty-three years old. She told them that she was from a place called Stafford, and that she was on her way back to her hometown after a weekend break in Glasgow.

She needed to get back because Tyler had school the next day and had no idea what was happening. Her radio was never on, and she had to witness for herself that people were turning on one another, but she had no idea why.

Sue said that she worked in a shop, and like every other guest, she stayed at the guesthouse to get a break from normal life. Then the conversation bizarrely went onto chocolate, which perplexed Ianto.

Sue had just lost her son, and the world—or at least the UK—was going to shit, and the women were talking about chocolate. Gwen told her how she was addicted to Cadbury's chocolate and would do anything for a Cadbury's Twirl.

Ianto looked at Stripy John; he was physically shaking but Ianto had no intention of going down the 'Gwen and Tosh route' and remained tight-lipped. Stripy John was beginning to look agitated in the face as the girls continued to chatter. He lifted his head up and blew out his cheeks and glared at Ianto and shook his head.

"What's the matter with you?" asked Ianto.

"Seriously?" John asked.

"Yeah. What is it?" Ianto raised his eyebrows and looked around the basement. "Apart from the obvious situation that we're in."

At this point the girls had ceased talking, and could sense the tension coming from the forty-six-year-old man known as Stripy John.

John stood to his feet and began his rant, "What's wrong with you lot? Aren't any of you scared?"

Jack intervened, "Of course we are—"

"This is it!" snapped John. "We're all fucked!

"Shut your mouth," Ianto hissed.

"We're never gonna get out of this alive." John then turned to an unflustered-looking Ianto. "I'm grateful that you sorted out that mess in the living room."

"Jack helped as well," Ianto corrected him.

John added, "I'm not going to lie to you; I'm the biggest coward on the planet. I suppose you already know that by now."

He lowered his head, shamefully.

"Look, John." Jack slowly stood to his feet. "We're all scared, just as much as you. That incident in the living room...well, we didn't have a choice in the matter. It was spontaneous. If we didn't react, we'd be like those things now."

"And coming straight for me," cried John. "Me, who was hiding in the bathroom like a scared little child. That's why I owe you, the both of you. And I want to apologise for my behaviour."

"Don't be silly, John." Owen added. "What do you think survivors are doing right now? Do you think they're out there, armed to the teeth, massacring these things? Or, hiding in their barricaded homes, their attics, their basements like...a scared little child?"

John's tears fell and Ianto looked over to Gwen. She nodded over to Ianto to comfort the man, but Ianto's body language suggested that that was never going to happen.

Gwen sighed at Ianto, "You fucking men. You're about as much use as a tub of lube in a nun's handbag."

She stood up and gave John a hug.

He cried onto her shoulder and sniffled, "I just want to know if my daughters are okay."

"I'm sure they're fine." Gwen crooned.

"You don't know that!" He angrily pulled himself away from her, and at first Ianto thought he was going to hit her.

Ianto stood still as John continued with his frightened rant. "This is the end. I'm not a religious person, but this has been predicted for centuries."

"What are you going on about?" Sue had at last spoken, wiping tears from her eyes.

John added, "This is...this...is the apo...apoc..."

"The apocalypse?" Jack helped him out.

John tearfully nodded.

Jack added, "But any fool can predict the end of the world. Asteroids, nuclear weapons, scientists fucking with Mother Nature, Alien invasion—it's always been possible."

Stripy John sighed impatiently. "I'm talking about biblical predictions, before we had nukes, before we had scientists, and before any of us knew what an asteroid was."

"And what if you're wrong?" Jack asked softly, "What if this is something we can fix but are too bloody scared to save those people? What if we are killing people that can be cured?

Ianto opened his mouth to give an immediate answer, but no words fell out. He tried again and said truthfully, "I don't even want to think about that."


	29. stay or go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [   
>  ](https://postimg.org/image/axgmr9t2n/) [](https://postimage.org/app.php)

For the last ten minutes Ianto was talking about staying in the basement for the long-term, but in order to do that they needed to stock up on food and water. The sanitation was also a problem, but not an absolute necessity.

Stripy Steve thought that Ianto's idea wouldn't work, but Jack was coming round to the idea. Sue was in too much shock to string a sentence together.

"It's okay," Ianto told the group, getting ready to acquire the supplies from the establishment. "I'll go on my own."

"Thanks, Ianto, but I'm better off alone." Jack tried to explain, "It's been quiet up there, but if one of those things does turn up out of nowhere and bites me, I could turn and then they'd be two of us attacking you."

Steve said, "And probably trying to get in here."

Ianto glared at Jack and he knew there was no more discussion on who was going.

Ianto added, "We'll only be a few minutes at the most. I think it's safer this way, unless someone desperately needs the toilet."

All shook their heads.

Ianto added, "I'll try and bring toilet roll and buckets down as well."

"Fuck that," Gwen scoffed. "If there's a perfect working toilet, I'm still using it."

"What about the dangers?" asked Steve.

"I'll take the risk."

Ianto disagreed with Gwen, but could see by her face she was adamant and he didn't want to cause an argument. _We'll cross that bridge when we come to it_ , he thought.

Ianto approached the basement's steps. Jack turned to Owen, "Make sure you bolt this door once I leave."

"Not taking the shotgun?"

Jack showed his Webley and Ianto tapped his pocket, suggesting he had his knife.

Ianto slowly opened the door and peered out the small opening. It was clear, and he could feel a draught stroking his skin, obviously from the wind coming from the smashed window in the living room.

Although certain that the establishment was barren of Hitchers, Ianto wasn't entirely sure, and this made his frame shake with fear. He stepped out of the basement, into the kitchen, and Jack closed the door behind them. As he heard Owen bolting it behind him, he decided to take small steps around the place. He left the kitchen to go down the hall.

Jack peered into the living room and could see the carnage he was partly responsible for.

Jack moved on as Ianto hesitated.

Once he checked the downstairs, he was going to go upstairs to get toilet roll, but he lost his nerve and went straight back into the kitchen, Jack rising alone. He knocked on the basement door and whispered through the door, "The ground floor's clear. Open up."

Owen opened up, and ignoring Steve's protest, Ianto told Owen to keep the door open whilst he passed food to him. He had found a cupboard under the sink and took out some carrier bags.

Ianto began filling the bags with tins, drinks, stuff from the fridge, and utensils, and passed them to Owen. Owen had organised a 'human train' and once Ianto handed over bags, they made their way, hand by hand, to the floor.

Stripy Steve was as nervous as hell having the door open, but thought that if he didn't pull his weight and give them a hand, it was going to take them longer to achieve this, meaning that the door would be open for longer. He only helped out of fright, and his cowardice was understandable, but he was beginning to piss Gwen off.

Once they were done, Ianto found some buckets under the sink, three in all, and passed them to Gwen. She looked at him with a blank expression. "I told you, I'm not shitting in no bucket."

"We can use them for anything. Pissing, vomiting, you name it."

"Sounds wonderful," she derided as she reluctantly took the buckets off of him and snapped, "We can't stay in this basement forever."

"So what do you suggest?" Jack asked calmly.

"We need to get the house boarded up. Then we can stay in the house as normal. We may as well use the amenities while the electricity is still working. We can get someone to keep a lookout for any dangers, and if there is one, we can all bolt back to the basement."

"It's too dangerous." Jack shook his head in disagreement.

"You still have faith on your 'friend' fixing this?" Ianto whispered and Jack nodded as he hoped with all his might that the Doctor was onto it.

"I'm not staying down here if it's quiet in the house. We're in the barrens, in the middle of nowhere. We're probably in one of the less populated areas in Wales." Gwen was arguing.

"Quiet? We got attacked by some of those things." Jack pointed out with raised eyebrows.

"And now they're dead. What're the chances of there being more of them?"

"Every chance," Ianto said with a negative tone in his voice.

"At least let's discuss it with the others."

"Fine" Jack answered "But let's remember that you are taking the lead with this one."

"This isn't a Torchwood matter anymore" Gwen challenged, "We are all in this together."

"Whatever you say Gwen by all means, lead away!" Jack swept his arm and she stormed from the room as Ianto reached out to take the still outstretched hand.

There was no response needed.

Ianto knew who his Captain was.

If Jack had faith in the Doctor, so did he..


	30. still pushing and pulling

Ianto had decided to block off the exposed living room window and had found a tool box that had belonged to Christopher; he had dismantled cupboards and drawers, and used the wood to board up the windows. He hated hammering the wood, because he felt so exposed making that kind of noise.

Once he was finished, he took a step backward and looked at the shoddy workmanship and sighed, "It won't stop them from coming in, but at least it gets rid of the draught."

Jack picked up the gun that was leaning against the wall, then decided to go back to the basement where the rest of the group were. When they arrived he could see Stripy Steve trying to tune into radio stations with a portable radio that had been taken from the kitchen.

"Probably the batteries," Jack said to Steve, as he could see he was struggling.

"Wait," he said. "I've got something."

The radio station was only on for a matter of seconds, but it was clear to all individuals that the matter being discussed was the fall of the UK due to this aggressive virus sweeping the nation.

They all sat in silence and Sue continued to sob, as Gwen comforted her.

Eventually, Sue got to her feet and brushed herself down. She looked at the group one-by-one and sighed with disappointment. Baffled by her behaviour, Ianto asked her what was wrong, but she ignored him and headed for the basement's steps. As soon as she reached the first one, Ianto could see the panic on Stripy Steve's face.

"Where're you going, Sue?" asked Ianto. He got to his feet slowly, picked up the gun, and wandered over to her.

Her tears were falling and she stammered, "My-my son is still out there, lying dead in my car. I need to bury him. I can't leave my baby boy out there, not on his own."

Jack and Ianto looked at one another, and Jack decided to speak up. "It's too dangerous at the moment, Sue. With the fog, we can't really see if it's clear. We spent long enough out there as it was when..."

Jack allowed the sentence to hang.

"When _what_?" Sue sniped.

No one answered her.

She continued with her venomous words. "When you killed him? When you shot him like an animal?"

She flashed a devilish look Ianto's way, convinced that he had been the shooter.

"It was _me_ that shot him," confessed Jack. "Ianto couldn't do it."

"You knew he had to go." This time Ianto decided to take a turn, giving Jack the feeling that he had some backing. "There was nothing else we could have done for him."

"Don't have a go at my brother" Rhiannon hissed as she crushed her child's head's to her breasts, "And keep your bloody voices down, you're scaring me babans! They did what they had to!"

"I know that, I'm sorry." Sue snapped, tears ran down her cheeks, and the fury in her face was for all to see. "Doesn't make it any fucking easier though, does it?"

A silence fell amongst the group and Jack and Ianto dropped their heads, whilst Stripy Steve cried—this time not for himself, but for his daughters.

Ianto exhaled noisily and gave Sue an apologetic look. "We can't go out there. If one of us is attacked, we could all get infested."

Sue huffed and shook her head in disgust at the three of them. "Fine, I'll bury him myself."

"No you won't." Ianto pointed the gun in Sue's direction.

Jack placed the palms of his hands on his hips in surprise "Ianto? What the fuck?"

Sue gave him a smile and said, "Shoot me, if you have to. Now Tyler's dead, I don't have much to live for."

Sue slowly walked up the basement's steps, almost as if she was purposely giving Ianto the opportunity to shoot her, if that was what he wanted. She then slid the bolt open and left the basement.

"Fuck!" Ianto cussed, and ran after her. Jack followed suit with the others, leaving Stripy Steve in the basement, cowering in the corner.

Once Ianto caught up with Sue, he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her gently back.

"Look," he warned. "If you want to bury your son, fine, I can understand that, but let us get him wrapped up."

Jack came from behind and added, "I'll get some sheets from upstairs."

"I need to see him!" Sue spat.

Sue barged past Ianto, forcing Ianto to grab her again, but this time he was a lot firmer.

"Your son was shot in the face, Sue." Ianto said bluntly; he felt it was the only way to get the woman to listen. "He was shot from only a few yards away. There ain't much left off him from the neck up. Do you really want to see that? Is that the image you want imprinted on your brain? If you go out there now, the last image of your son will be him almost headless with most of his brains splattered over the interior of your jeep—"

"Ianto! That's enough!" Jack bellowed, forcing Ianto to remain silent, and Sue to admit defeat.

"Go back in the basement," Jack calmly said to Sue. "Me and Ianto will wrap him up, take him out of the car, and we'll bury him together. Yeah?"

It seemed to take an age to do it, but Sue nodded the once, and did what she was told. She went back to the basement whilst Jack ran upstairs to get sheets. Ianto was just about to tell Owen to hold off until Jack checked the upstairs, but he was already at the top off the stairs and they had never heard anything to suggest that more of these things had entered the establishment.

For a brief moment Ianto stood on his own, holding the shotgun with his right hand. _What the fuck is going on? How on earth did it come to this?_

As soon as Jack returned with sheets under his arm, they both silently walked to the front door and hesitantly stepped out into the spine-chilling, yet beautiful, barrens.

The dense fog had lifted a little, but their overall vision of the area was still impaired. Looking around, showered in nervousness, Jack said, "As soon as you see so much of a silhouette of _anything_ , shoot it."

Ianto never responded, and was the first to walk over to the vehicle. He opened the door and covered half of his face with his black T-shirt. He looked away as soon as Jack stepped inside and began wrapping the young boy up.

Seeing him struggling to get him out, Ianto went to help him as she put him over his shoulder.

"You just concentrate on what's around us," Jack reprimanded.

Ianto accepted his scolding, and walked behind Jack as he struggled to get the boy inside.

"Straight through the back," said Ianto. "Through the kitchen door. I'll check the shed for a shovel."

Ianto ran towards the shed and was livid.

_This is madness_.

He could understand that Sue had only just lost her boy, but doing all of this was just putting the group in unnecessary jeopardy. It was an insane situation.

What worried Ianto was that if Sue was attacked and infected, would her infested brain remember that there were humans to attack in the basement? Would she remember, or would the rage, or whatever the hell it was, blind her from any of these thoughts and she was only programmed to attack other humans?

He had no fucking idea!


	31. still confined

Desperate for some kind of update on the progress, or syaye of the country, Ianto and Jack had left the basement once more to watch the news on the TV. It appeared that, despite the frightening scenes from outside earlier, everyone, including Stripy Steve, was overcome with intrigue to see if there had been any kind of progress.

Ianto and Jack were naturally apprehensive but wanted to see what was happening to their country. Sue had also appeared in the living room to watch the TV, and Stripy Steve, although shaking with fear, was also present. The bodies and a stench were present in the living room, but the group were doing their best to ignore it.

Through the cracks of the boarded-up living room window, Jack told the group that he would just listen to the TV and peer out of the cracks of the window to see if it was safe outside. He also told them that he had left the basement door open so if these things _did_ turn up, it was just a quick run to the kitchen, and valuable seconds of opening the basement door wouldn't be necessary.

Ianto smiled and patted Jack on the shoulder once he was told this

The TV went onto the channel that it was last on, SKY News. Ianto had an assortment of news channels to choose from, but stuck to the channel that was being broadcasted from the London studios. It appeared that, despite what was happening, some parts of London hadn't been affected and that people were still trying to do their job.

The channel came on the moment the editor of the Daily Mail was being interviewed by phone by Stephen Dixon, and it appeared, from what the editor was saying, that some places in London had already been quarantined, but the army was struggling to contain the 'problem'. When he mentioned the word _problem_ , Ianto correctly assumed that the editor meant the hundreds of Hitchers that were out there.

It was no wonder they were struggling to cope, Ianto thought. This seemed to have come out of the blue, with no build-up or nothing. Of course the authorities were struggling to cope with the outbreak! A day ago they probably didn't know they _had_ an outbreak of any kind. They weren't prepared for this. No one was prepared for this!

Rhiannon was once again in the other room with the children, Ianto listening as David's little voice rose and then fell as he spoke to his mam.

The pasty-faced anchorman announced that they had received two more pieces of footage and advised the viewers that it will contain scenes of violence.

The first scene was taken from the skies by a media helicopter, and the film showed hundreds of these things running through Soho's streets and entering buildings by force.

Jack took a quick peep and made a nervous joke about stealth not being their strong point, but nobody responded.

A person was videoing from a third floor flat, and it showed a dozen or so Hitchers sprinting after a family down a street. The family, which consisted of a mother, a father and a teenage boy, were taken down. By the time the group of freaks backed off, the family had reanimated and quickly got to their feet and began running along with the rest of the group.

Although promising to just listen and keep watch if anything was happening outside, Stripy Steve was now transfixed to the TV.

"We've all seen horror films, right?" he spoke. "So what would you class them as?"

"We've already gone through this the other day," Jack sighed. "They're humans that have been infested."

Ianto rubbed his face, exasperated that there was no positive information on the crisis, and although this virus was spreading, speedily, there had been no reports on attacks outside the UK.

Ianto said, "I don't think this thing is gonna last long."

"No?" Sue spoke up. "What makes you so sure?"

"We're an island. I'm sorry, but if I was living in the USA or even France, I'd be happy for the whole of the UK to turn on one another, so long as it didn't affect _my_ country..."

"So what are you saying?" Jack asked.

"Well, I'm guessing that once the population of these things outweigh the uninfected human population, then they're gonna starve. They're eating us, albeit briefly because of the quickness of the infection, but they're still eating, and I don't think they're the type of things to sit down and eat cheese and crackers if no more meat is on offer."

"Unless they turn to animals. _That_ could keep them going." Jack finally broke the uneasy silence.

"Shit." Ianto shook his head. "I never thought of that."

"If they were attacked, I wonder if animals can be infested?" Sue queried no one in particular.

Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise; that was something he had never thought of. "That's a very good point."

Ianto continued to watch TV, and was shaking his head with exasperation.

"Why is it just London?" Ianto seemed unhappy that most of the footage that had been shown on TV had been London-based. "Isn't the rest of the country important enough to be given a mention?"

"Relax, Ianto," said Jack. "They just show the footage that they're given."

"I know, but what about Liverpool, Swansea, Dundee or Stoke?"

"That's it," Owen snapped. "It's a foregone conclusion that we're all fucked."

"Right, everyone." Ianto clapped his hands together. "We've been in here long enough. Back in the basement."

Jack was still holding back, checking his VM discretely and Ianto felt a spike of anger.

After everything, Jack was still a disciple of the Church of Timelord?

Ianto wondered if any prayer would help them now.

For in all the footage, there was no mention of a mad man in a box.


	32. steve

The light was on in the basement, and Ianto could see just how despondent everybody was. Owen was rocking back and forth, lost in his own little world. Sue was also staring into space, which was not surprising after losing her seven year-old son, and others looked shattered, on the verge of tears.

"This is doing nobody any good, being cooped up in here," Jack spoke out.

"If you wanna go and watch more TV or go to the bathroom, I'll come with you to keep a lookout." Gwen was sympathetic to the cabin fever some individuals were feeling.

"Jack did say earlier that we should use the amenities of the house before the power goes, but we need someone to keep guard." Rhiannon spoke up as she covered her sleeping son, the little baby girl still at her tit.

"Do you think the power _will_ go out?" asked Sue.

"Yes."

"If they don't get this thing under control, this country will be going to the shitter," Owen said coldly.

"I'm scared," Tosh blurted out.

Her short confession silenced the group and Ianto decided to appease her. "We're all scared, Tosh. Every single one of us. Hang in there, sweetie. I need you."

Her eyes were brimming and she nodded her head, almost as if she was thanking Ianto for his kind words.

Stripy Steve got to his feet and brushed the back of his trousers.

"Going somewhere?" Jack questioned with suspicion.

"I need the toilet," confessed Steve.

Ianto pointed to the two buckets in the corner. "I'll empty them down the sink before the evening kicks in."

Steve cleared his throat and said, "No; I mean, I _really_ need to go."

Ianto got to his feet and grabbed the shotgun. "Okay, let's go."

"I can go on my own, you know." Steve looked to be a little agitated, and ran his fingers through his short grey hair. "I'm not a fucking baby."

"Relax." Ianto held his hand up, showing Steve his palm. "If ever anyone wants a number two and use the bathroom upstairs, I'm gonna go with them and stand by the door. It's just because I've got the gun."

"let him go on his own. I'm sure he'll be fine." Sue agreed. "We haven't heard anything for ages. I don't think anything's gonna happen in the next ten minutes. Even if it did, that would be rotten luck."

"I'm not stupid," Steve spoke up. "If I hear anything when I'm in the bathroom, I'll stay put."

Ianto looked at Joan and Sue. Noticing this, Steve bellowed, "For Christ's sake, I'm forty-six! Who made you leader of the group anyway? I'm fucking going!"

"Shut your mouth," Jack scolded. "Keep the noise down and bloody language please!"

Stripy Steve stormed off and Ianto walked behind him.

Steve turned around and snarled, "You're not coming with me. I _can_ have a shit without adult supervision."

"I was just going to bolt the door after you'd left."

Steve lowered his head apologetically. "Oh."

"You still got your knife?"

Steve laughed and pulled it out. "It's just a steak knife."

"It'd do the damage, if need be."

"Probably." Steve then looked back at the group. "I won't be long."

He turned and went through the door and into the kitchen. Ianto bolted the door behind him. Ianto then went back down the steps and asked if they wanted a drink of water, or even a hot beverage.

"I could murder a coffee," Jack said.

Sue smiled. "Me too."

"Fine," Ianto chuckled. "I'll make coffees. I'll make Steve one too."

Ianto left the basement, went into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. His nose twitched as the smell of the decomposing bodies from the living room tortured his snout.

_We're gonna have to get rid of them eventually._

With the shotgun in his hand, he checked the ground floor and then took a look outside whilst waiting for the kettle to boil. Everything seemed clear, and the fog had now disappeared. He went back into the kitchen and waited for the kettle. He made the drinks and headed to the basement, leaving the shotgun in the kitchen.

He had forgot to ask what the girls took in their drinks and just made coffee with milk in all cups. He returned to the basement and put the cups on the floor.

"He's taking his time," said Jack, referring to Steve.

Ianto looked at his watch. Steve had been away for eleven minutes so far.

"I'll see if he's okay."

Ianto exited the basement once again, took the shotgun from the kitchen, and called Steve from the bottom of the stairs. "Steve; I've made coffee."

Ianto called a second time before pulling his T-shirt over his face to reduce the stench coming from the living room. There was no response, so Ianto crept up the stairs, and as soon as he made it to the landing he gently knocked the door.

"Steve?"

He gently knocked the door again, and he was beginning to get an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. He told himself that he would knock one more time before going in.

He knocked. There was no verbal reaction. He went in.

"Oh Steve."

Ianto gazed helplessly at Steve as he lay in an empty bath, eyes closed, with both wrists cut downwards. He had bled out copiously. His T-shirt was covered in blood, and with his arms resting on his lap, the crotch of his trousers was saturated in crimson and there was plenty of blood slowly trickling its way to the plughole.

Ianto crouched down and felt his throat getting tighter. He placed his hand on Steve's head and said with sorrow coated in his speech, "I'm sorry, Steve. I hope you're in a better place."

Ianto thought that Steve would have stayed strong for the possibility of being reunited with his two girls. It appeared that the hope of seeing his daughters had disappeared, and that the father of two was certain that he was never going to see them again.

Ianto was unsure whether Steve thought that he was going to be infested eventually, or had a strong feeling that his girls had already been infested.

For the time being, Ianto decided to leave Steve in peace. He said a prayer, then left the bathroom and slowly trudged down the stairs. He was heading back to the basement.

They were all about to receive some sad news.


	33. found

Apart from a little wind trying to sneak into the cracks of the boarded-up living room window, Ianto felt that the house and outside was serene. Before breaking the bad news to the others about Steve, he walked into the living room to peer through the cracks.

His eyes were greeted by beautiful green hills, the sun beating down.

The only thing that ruined the scene was the crashed jeep on the road belonging to Sue, which was also decorated inside with her son's brains.

Ianto shook his head. It was an awful experience seeing her son die like that, and it must have taken a lot of guts for Jack to take him out. It was guts that he never had.

Seconds from moving away from the area where the window used to be, Ianto's heart almost stopped when he saw the gowned man. For an individual, infected or not, that had been hit by a car, he seemed in good shape.

He walked nonchalantly past the guesthouse and then suddenly stopped. It glared at the damaged vehicle; then scowled 360 degrees around the area. He then quickly twisted his neck to his right and from that distance Ianto could see the Hitcher in the back of his neck, its wide possessed eyes, dried blood over it and mandible.

Ianto held his breath as the thing seemed to be glaring at him; but it was impossible for it to see Ianto, wasn't it? Despite this frightening episode, and the basement being only a few yards away in the kitchen, Ianto's legs refused to move.

He wasn't budging.

_I hope to God that these fuckers don't have some kind of super sense of smell._

Ianto took a step back from the area where the window used to be and opened the shotgun, making sure there were shells in as he was unsure whether he had put them in or not; he had.

He then snapped the gun shut and went back over to peer through the boarded up window.

The gowned man had vanished.

Ianto produced a small gulp, and could feel the carotid pulse banging from the inside of his neck. "Shit. Where are you?"

He took a step back once again and decided to go back to the basement.

Jack needed to know about the presence from outside, but at the same time he didn't want to increase their consternation.

What was he to do? Keep his mouth shut? Or tell them the truth? It was bad enough he had to tell them Steve had just committed suicide.

A sudden smack against the wood made Ianto yelp in fright. He stumbled backwards, dropped the shotgun and fell over Angela Horton's body. The back of his T-shirt began to soak up the blood on the floor, and he quickly got to his feet and tried to reach for the gun.

After hearing the commotion, Jack had made an appearance and another smack against the wooden boards was heard, and this time the splitting of wood was clear.

This thing was throwing itself at the place, desperate to get in. Another smack saw the wood split and the possessed demon stuck his right arm fully in to grab at anything he could.

Ianto picked up and raised the shotgun, but Jack was quicker to react and rammed a steak knife into its arm, just above the elbow, and into the bicep.

It withdrew its arm and made an awful cry, almost like a prehistoric cry, and both humans ran to the basement and quickly locked themselves in before they were attacked.

"What is it?" Rhiannon was hiding in the corner, and neither Jack nor Ianto answered her.

They bolted the basement door shut and listened to the racket the infested person was creating. After thirty seconds the noise and its screaming had stopped.

Now what?

Ianto and Jack remained sitting on the top of the steps and were both heavy breathing; their intake and outtake of breath were done together.

Ianto then said, "It seems to have calmed down. One thing for sure, we can't stay down here anymore."

"And go where?"

Ianto shrugged his shoulders. "Does this place have an attic? I'd rather be trapped above than down below."

"What difference does it make?" Jack spoke with contempt. "If you're trapped, you're trapped. And where in the blue fuck is Steve?"

"He's dead." Ianto decided not to sugar coat what he had seen, and told them straight. "I found him in an empty bath. He'd cut open his wrists."

"For fuck's sake." Jack began pacing the floor. "Are _you_ okay?"

Ianto released a sarcastic smile. "Well, it's something I'm... _we're_ becoming used to now, isn't it?"

"And how did that thing attack the house?" asked Jack. "Were you making a noise?"

Ianto answered Jack, and wasn't incensed by the accusation. "I think it...smelt me. I can't think of any other reason why it did what it did. I'm pretty sure it didn't see me. Or maybe it was when I snapped the shotgun shut."

He was unsure.

"Well, this seems to get better and better." Jack was still pacing the floor, determined to wear out the carpet, and added, "Why do you think that thing was wearing that gown? You reckon it was an escaped mental patient or something?"

Ianto nodded. "I think it must have come from a hospital. It was probably attacked like many others, but I have no idea how it ended up in the middle of nowhere."

Ianto took his T-shirt off and put on a spare that was sitting in the corner of the basement.

Another black one.

He then turned to Tosh. "How are we all gonna get through this...without being infested?"

Tosh shook her head, the expression on her face was blank. "We're not sure."


	34. Chapter 34

The group had sat in silence for ten minutes and the sounds of more banging had startled them.

Tosh, Gwen and Sue hugged one another and sobbed as the noises became more raucous.

It sounded like the front door was being battered and Ianto couldn't understand why they were doing it.

If they were doing it because they knew people were inside, then _how_ did they know?

"We're trapped," Rhiannon sobbed. "We're trapped in this damn basement. Oh my babies."

"Attic," said Jack "before they get in."

"We'll never make it."

"Not if we keep on dithering down here."

"Oh..." Ianto clasped the shotgun and shook his head. "Fuck it."

He quickly stood to his feet and went up the steps of the basement. They crept out, went through the kitchen, and along the hallway with hesitant feet.

They could hear the splinter of wood as some were trying to get through the front door and the boarded up living room window. They trotted up the stairs and Sue went into the bathroom.

"Not there," Ianto sniped.

A scream was released from Sue as she clocked Stripy Steve's body, and this fuelled the perseverance of the creatures from outside to get in.

"Where's the attic?" Ianto asked Jack.

"Dunno." he shrugged his shoulders. "I thought _you_ knew."

"Bollocks!" Owen muttered behind them and Ianto snorted.

More sounds could be heard from downstairs and an angry cry alerted them that some of them were in.

"Where the fuck's Sue?" Jack twisted his neck, looking along the landing.

"This way," said Sue, appearing from the main bedroom.

All went into the room. Sue pointed at the hatch that was situated in the corner and Ianto immediately jumped and pulled on the hatch, opening it and revealing stepladders that slowly came down and touched the floor.

Another crash was heard from downstairs, making Gwen shriek, and Ianto advised the females to go up before the men, then climbed up himself with the shotgun in his left hand with Jack following last of all, his face guarded.

They were now in the attic, urging Ianto to hurry up as thuds could be heard.

They were coming up the stairs!

As soon as Jack reached the top they pulled up the stepladders, which also closed the hatch, and could see the first few running into the room.

They huddled together with Jack clinging to Ianto and Ianto realised that he was scared.

For some reason these things had terrified Jack and although he didn't understand why he knew it must be something to do with Gray. He held his arms and leaned back, letting him find comfort.

They jumped when the hatch was hit hard.

They all looked at one another.

"They're trying to jump up." Ianto bent down and placed his ear against the hatch. The room below was full of them now, but Ianto was confident that they couldn't get in.

He sat back and looked at the frightened girls. Owen was trying to comfort them all and his eyes were wide as he stared at Ianto.

He held his hands up and could see they were shaking.

"I can't stop shaking either," said Ianto, quietly.

"I wonder how long it'll be before they get bored and leave." Rhiannon was sitting down and had her children tucked into her chest.

"They might not give up," Jack said. "The fuckers might not leave until we're dead, until they've starved us. We may have to use that and go along the roof."

He pointed up at the skylight.

"We can't go out there on foot," groaned Ianto. "They'd pick us off eventually. There ain't many places to hide in the Barrens."

"I still can't get my head around what's happening." Gwen shook her head.

Sue then burst into tears and both Ianto and Jack glared at one another.

Temporarily, with the entire hullabaloo that had been happening, they had forgotten that this woman had lost her boy.

Jesus, what a weird and fucked up few hours this had been!

He took a look around the attic to see Tosh and Sue staring into space. They were all in shock, and Ianto knew that it could take days for this to settle in.

But why now?

Why did it have to happen now?

The threat of world destruction had been present for decades.

The Cold War had put the world on high alert.

The work they had done with alien races, the tentative peace treaties in place.

Stories of meteorites hitting the Earth and terrorist organisations had always placed doubts over the safety of the planet, but not this!

No expert had predicted this! Yes, there were preppers out there, mainly from the US, and had been ridiculed for years by other people, and Ianto was one of them.

Who was laughing now?

JAck was still strangely accepting and Ianto bit back annoyance as he clearly knew something.

Ianto was sitting and, like the others, was silent and had his knees tucked against his chest. They stared into space, listening to the sounds of snarling and manic feet from below. It sounded like the whole house was now littered with these things, and there was nothing they could do but wait it out.

Maybe they would go away.

Maybe they wouldn't go away.

Ianto looked up to the skylight, and then saw the others look up.

They were all thinking the same thing and hoped that going through the skylight was something they didn't need to do. They didn't have the time to grab food and water before they went into the attic, so time wasn't on their side.

All they could do now was pray.


	35. Chapter 35

Hours had passed; the boredom was suffocating and the noises from the first floor below them had faded, but there was some still inside.

They could hear them.

Rhiannon finally broke the silence between them, and said quietly, "Do you think they'll be gone soon? I think _some_ have left."

Neither Ianto or Jack answered the woman. They had no idea.

"Do you think they'll be waiting outside for us? Can they smell us?" Sue asked more impossible questions that couldn't be answered.

Ianto exhaled hard. "I don't know, Rhia. All I know is what we've seen on TV and in the streets as we fled. And it wasn't much. We still don't know how it all happened. I'm guessing some kind of laboratory faux pas, but that's just me guessing."

Jack nodded his approval for the Torchwood name being kept out if this and the mention of the Hitchhikers going unsaid.

"They reckon it takes thirty to sixty seconds to turn," Jack said softly, knowing that Sue wasn't present when they all watched the TV footage in the Horton's living room. "Which is why they don't really eat you. As soon as you're infested, you're left alone and then you turn. We're not sure of their behaviour though."

"What do you mean?" quizzed Sue.

"Well...they're still human, but I'm not sure they can drive and speak. They can obviously run and jump, but I think they've lost some skills due to the infection. Maybe they've just forgot how to do certain things."

"Can they swim?"

Jack smiled. "I don't know. I don't think so."

"Can they be clever?"

Owentried to stifle a snigger and stopped when Jack flashed him an evil glare.

"What do you mean?" Jack asked.

Sue thought for a moment. "Can they be sneaky? I mean...if we sneak off outside and they jump out on us..."

"You mean...ambush?"

Sue nodded.

"I don't know if they're sneaky, but what we do know is that if you're getting chased they will not stop until they catch you."

Gwen stroked her chin in thought and said, "But if they are human, they should get out of breath like any other person could."

Ianto nodded. "That's actually a good point. They can die like any of us. I shot one in the chest with Christopher's gun and it never got back up. So why not get out of breath, or even suffer stitch?"

Tosh leaned forward, "So they can die if they are on fire?"

"Well, Sue you hit one with your jeep when you first arrived, and that seemed to have damaged it. So they can pretty much die like the rest of us. If you hit a dog with your car, it'll die. If you hit a dog with your car and it has rabies, it'll die."

"So these people have rabies or something?"

"No, Sue," Ianto laughed. "I'm just saying that these things are not superhuman, they're infested from those spider things and can die just the same way as you and I could."

A quilt of silence smothered them for a couple of minutes until Owen spoke up. "I need a shit."

"Oh charming." Jack didn't know whether to laugh of not.

"I'm sorry, but I really do."

"I could go for a wee." It was Sue's turn to speak. "And I'm so thirsty."

Gwen said, "Me too."

"And this nappy isn't rose infused" Rhiannon finally snorted.

Ianto sighed and shook his head. "We're gonna have to leave. You know that, don't you?"

If they stayed in the attic for days, dehydration and starvation was going to kill them if the beasts didn't.

Jack queried, "And when do you think we should leave?"

Ianto looked up and said, "Right now."

Ianto grabbed a chair from the corner of the attic and placed it gently underneath the skylight.

"Are you sure about this, Ianto?" Jack whispered as he watched Gwen, now biting her nails.

"Not really." He gave off a thin smile, but his face quivered in fright. "But I certainly don't want to die slowly from dehydration."

"So you'd rather die being killed by those things out there?"

Ianto laughed, and said, "I wouldn't die. I'd just be infested."

"Wait a minute." Jack held his hand up and cocked his head to listen.

Sue whispered, "What is it?"

"I can't hear anything anymore," he said, referring to the bedroom underneath them.

Ianto walked over slowly, making sure his steps were as soft as possible, bent, down and placed his left ear near the hatch. For minutes he listened whilst they sat in silence patiently.

"I think it's clear," he announced nervously.

"Let's just stay here for a while." Sue looked reluctant to move. "They might not come back."

Ignoring Sue, Owen said, "If we can get to the side of the place, the Hortons' car there."

He pulled out car keys from his back pocket and gave them a shake.

Ianto had his hand on the latch to lower the ladders and said, "I can check the house out on my own. No point putting ourselves in danger by going over the roof if the house is clear."

"No, Ianto." Jack shook his head. "I'm not gonna let you do that."

"Hush and listen to me. Pull the ladders back up after me and Jack are down, and if we are attacked there'd be no way of me getting to you once I...turn."

Owen nodded "I suppose that makes sense."

"Okay?"

He grabbed the shotgun, made sure both barrels were full, and slowly made his way downstairs into the unknown.

Before he could whisper an instruction up to Owen, he had already raised the ladders. He looked out of the bedroom window to see, apart from Sue's crashed car, that the area was clear.

_No Hitchers. Where did they go?_

Ianto remembered a conversation they had in the attic about them learning.

Maybe they were hiding in the house, fooling them, and giving the survivors the impression that they had gone. Ridiculous, Ianto thought. But then again so was infected humans running amok across the country, feeding and infecting other humans. It was like something out of a Matheson novel.

"Are you OK?" he whispered to Jack who nodded.

"When I was a child I …I mean … we were attacked by things that … we called them raiders," Jack was clutching at Ianto, "I'm sorry, I' not much good to you but this … this is one of my worst nightmares."

Despite his concerns and his constant shaking, they checked the other rooms, avoided the bathroom where Stripy Steve lay in a bloody mess, and stood on the landing and peered downstairs.

Raising the shotgun Ianto crept downstairs and could feel his temporal pulse smacking away from inside of his head. He had never been so nervous in all his life.

There were only four incidents in his life that came close to the way he was feeling right now.

The first one was when he was sixteen.

A crowd of older boys surrounded him and asked for money.

He told them to go and fuck themselves and was thrown to the ground and kicked repeatedly, receiving a fractured cheekbone, four broken ribs, a broken wrist and heavy bruising.

Maybe he was lucky to get away with that.

The second time was when he was in his early twenties. He was drunk and had left a nightclub early whilst his friends remained inside. He waited outside for them and an altercation occurred between him and another drunken reveller. Punches were thrown and one knife wound to Ianto's stomach had given him the fright of his life. The attacker had fled the scene, whilst the bouncers from the club called the emergency services.

We don't really need to mention Canary Warf, right?

Of course the last time was here in the Barrens, when something else wanted to devour him altogether.

Ianto was now at the bottom of the stairs and was facing the front door that looked like it had been forced open. It was wide open, revealing the outside, and was almost hanging off its hinges. He tried to close it, but the door wasn't budging.

He went into the living room and tried to ignore the bloody carnage lying on the floor, and checked where the window used to be.

The wood had been smashed through and it appeared that it had been a pathetic attempt to stop them from coming in. He went into the kitchen and ran the tap, sticking his head under the water. He then grabbed a plastic bottle and filled it, thinking of the girls. He tucked it into his pocket and went back upstairs, feeling the shooting pain up his back passage.

He desperately needed the toilet.

If he didn't go now, he was going to shit his pants without a doubt. Bloody Owen putting his own bowels into motion.

So he did the unthinkable.

He quickly went into the bathroom, trying to ignore Stripy Steve's bloody body in the bath, dropped his trousers, sat on the toilet seat and went for it. Jack stood at the door with the shotgun, urging him to hurry.

Once again, he heard the name Gray whispered.

He was finished in two minutes and hurried back to the attic.

"It's me." He stood underneath the attic and waited for a reaction.

He could hear movement and watched as the ladders were lowered down.

Gwen popped her head through and gave Ianto a smile. "All clear?"

Ianto smiled. "It's all clear. I hope there's plenty of fuel in the car."

"Almost a full tank he told me." Owen said as he climbed down and turned to help the girls. "My turn to shit?"

"Yeah." Ianto felt Jack against his back. "We better hurry."

"And go where?" Gwen queried as others took turns in the bathroom, Stripy Steve now covered with the shower curtain.

"Somewhere safe."

"And where's that?"

"I don't know. But it's not here."

They made their way down to the ground floor.

"Okay. Let's fucking do this." Jack straightened his back and released a big puff out. Ianto could see he was nervous—they were all fucking nervous, but he admired his bravery. "The car's parked at the side of the guesthouse, the people mover. I'll lead the way."

They quickly went downstairs and were still apprehensive despite Ianto giving it the all clear, and all gulped when they reached outside.

Tosh had David in her arms as she followed and Ianto was pleased to see his sister trusting someone.

"This way." Jack began to jog as he spotted the car. Other vehicles were there that more than likely belonged to James and Stripy Steve.

Owen pressed the key fob and unlocked the vehicle.

He jumped in the front, Ianto went into the passenger seat and the others sat behind them.

Owen started the engine, locked the doors from the inside and left the premises. He turned right and went along the country road, with no idea where he was going.

"So where to now?" Gwen was almost in tears and clung onto Ianto's headrest, her nails digging into the rubber.

"Anywhere." Jack sounded unsure. "If it's a farm, a pub or another guesthouse, it'll do."

"And what if these things have already reached these places?" Sue whimpered.

"I don't fucking know, Sue."

"We'll stop at the first place that looks safe," said Ianto.

"I'm sorry, Sue," Jack spoke up.

"Don't be." Sue smiled thinly. "Let's face it, we're all shitting a brick."


	36. knock on wood

The road was becoming windy and the day was getting murkier with the dark clouds that hung above their heads. It was the afternoon, but it'd soon be the evening again and the darkness would only increase the danger.

Owen continued to swerve around the bendy road, going too fast for Ianto's liking with the babies in the car, and once he found a long stretch of road that descended he began to slow down.

In the distance they could see a figure standing with its back to them.

Owen eventually brought the car to a stop, unsure what to do next.

No one in the vehicle spoke and they could see the man in the distance slowly turning around. Maybe he could hear the engine. The figure that was over a hundred yards away began to slowly walk towards the SUV.

"Maybe it's not one of them." Gwen looked on from the back, shivers running down her spine.

The man then began to sprint towards them, forcing Jack to say, "It's definitely one of them."

"Reverse!" Ianto urged the dithering driver. "Fucking reverse and go the other way!"

Owen slipped the car into gear and hit the accelerator.

He got to third gear and reached almost forty; they all screamed out as the vehicle smashed into the Hitcher.

It hit the bonnet, and went over the roof and landed on the other side. Owen stopped the car and looked at the body in the rear-view mirror. It was lying on the road, curled up, but it was twitching and wasn't quite dead yet.

"What the fuck are you waiting for?" yelled Ianto.

Gwen didn't say anything; she just sat in the back seat and sobbed.

Owen slipped the car into reverse and shot backwards.

All jumped up a little as the car went over the body, and again when he brought it forwards.

Owen looked in the rear-view mirror, with a smile on his face, as he drove away.

The body was motionless. "Try and get up from that, you cunt."

"I'm sorry." Ianto had his hands on his head and moaned, "You're not enjoying this, are you?"

"Of course not. Just needed to make sure." Owen then took a quick look over his shoulder. "You alright in the back?"

"I think I've pissed myself," said Sue.

"Lovely."

The vehicle hit a steep road and Ianto looked out of his passenger window. The hills of this area was really a sight to behold. As soon as the vehicle went over the tip of the hill the view was even more spectacular.

"Look!" Rhiannon screamed.

They could see a white building up ahead, on the left hand side.

"Careful," warned Ianto. "It may not be safe."

As they got closer they could see that the large building was an inn called The White Horse.

"It seems bare enough," Jack said, as the Renault turned into the car park. There was a black Subaru jeep in the car park, and they assumed that this vehicle belonged to the owner or owners of this fine establishment.

Owen parked up, pulled the handbrake up and switched off the engine.

They looked through the windscreen and glared at the back of the pub, unsure what to do next.

"So?" Sue was the first person to speak up. "What do we do now?"

Ianto opened the passenger door, clutching onto the shotgun. "We go in"

Ianto tried the door of the pub and gave it a little push with his hand as memories of the cannibals ticked the back of his mind.

He told Jack to hold the shotgun, and then gave the door a heavier nudge with his shoulder. He tried again, winced, and began rubbing his deltoid.

Sue giggled, "Looks easier in the movies."

Ianto never responded and blushed a little because of his pathetic attempt to break down the door. He took the shotgun off of Jack and began to think.

"Maybe if I..." He pointed the gun at the door, at where the lock could be, but protests from Jack and Sue thwarted his idea.

"Don't be a fucking idiot, Ianto?" Jack slapped him across the shoulder. "There's none of those freaks here, but one blast could ruin that."

"It's the only way."

"No it's not."

"Have you got any better suggestions?"

"Yeah," a voice came from above them, making them all gasp. They all looked up and could see a bald, hard-looking man hanging out of his window, glaring at them.

"You could always just knock. You're not the sharpest crayon in the toolbox, are you?"

Jack leaned in and whispered to Ianto. "Doesn't he mean... _tool_?"


	37. strange welcome

They had been in the place for a matter of minutes.

The man had informed them that he was the owner of the pub and was called Liam Kent. He was a tall, muscular fellow, and looked like a 'retired' football hooligan.

Ianto noticed that the man's forearms were covered in tattoos, but couldn't make them out.

Asking about their significance was not important and was something that could wait.

Liam came across that he was a no-nonsense individual and swore a lot, making Rhiannon uncomfortable, but it didn't bother Owen as he could be just as bad.

Liam had a son who he called Junior, and seemed like a chip off the old block. Junior was fourteen years old, obviously looked up to his old man, and also released the odd profanity and had a stance as if he was as tough as old boots.

But Ianto was certain that it was just an act. After all, he was just fourteen. He was a kid.

If Ianto was fourteen and this thing had kicked off he would have shat himself.

But maybe Junior was confident. He had a tough-looking dad who he must have thought that he was the hardest man on the planet.

They were all sitting, the BBC news was on the TV, on mute, and the three guests were waiting for Junior to come in from the kitchen with the three cups of teas that was promised to them.

Once he arrived, he plonked the cups down and disappeared.

They watched the television for ten minutes in quiet.

"So what's your story, man?" Liam Kent eventually asked them. He was sitting in the armchair whilst Jack and Ianto were huddled on the sofa. "If I'm gonna let you lot stay the night, I better get to know you all."

Ianto was the first to speak. "I live in Cardiff and evacuated with my workmates when it started to hit the fan. Me sister and her kids were scooped up along the way. We all met at a guesthouse, just down the road."

"I kind of know the couple that run it," Liam said.

"You mean you _knew_ the couple that _used_ to run it." Owen said thoughtlessly.

"Oh, I see." Liam gaped at Sue and noticed something hiding behind her brown shoulder length hair. "And what about you, sugar pants?"

Sue smirked at his comment and said, "What do you wanna know. My age? I'm…

Liam pointed. "What's that on your neck, girl?"

Ianto could see that Sue's face had drained of all colour. "What's what? Where did your son go to?"

Liam smirked at her trying to change the subject, but answered her query anyway. "He's in his room, playing the Xbox."

Liam leaned over and took a closer look at her neck. "How did you get that scar?"

Sue stammered, and could feel everybody's eyes on her.

"And who's Jimmy?" He nodded towards the gold necklace that was around her neck, with 'Jimmy' engraved on the heart pendant.

Sue never answered and Ianto could see she was getting tetchy. Ianto could understand why Liam wanted to get to know them, but thought he was too pushy and intrusive.

"Can I get myself a glass of water?" Ianto asked Liam, who quickly nodded. "Anyone else need another drink?"

Nobody answered, so Ianto went to the kitchen by himself.

Liam looked at Tosh. "What about you, angel cake? You look traumatised. You must have seen some shit."

Jack gave Liam a five-minute summary of what had happened and why they had to flee the guesthouse. By the time Ianto had returned with his glass of water Jack was nearly finished.

"Did you have to kill any?" Ianto asked Liam and sat back down on the couch, in between Jack and Owen.

"There was a couple in the car park, just standing about." Liam began to cackle as he remembered the day before. "I knew what they were, after watching the TV reports, so I just went out there and cracked a few skulls, then dumped them by the pond."

"Pond?" Jack asked.

"There's a pond at the back of this place, behind the trees. It's not that big."

"What's on the other side of the pond?"

"Nothing really, man. There's a small island in the middle of it. There's a mad old bastard that lives there called Rob Round," Liam began to explain. "He's got a little rowing boat that he never uses that's tied up by his hut. He's a strange old cunt. Hardly ever see him, to be honest. He must like the isolation."

Rhiannon slid out of the room with the children and took them to the bathroom to wash them, also the ever decreasing nappy supply was about to get a pounding.

Liam leaned back in the chair as the rest were gazing at the TV. Liam had seen it all before.

Liam turned up the volume of the television as they glared at the TV and saw the newsreader struggling to get through the broadcast. The footage that they were seeing was of three areas. The first was London. Oxford street was barren, and they were showing what they had all seen before, but this was on a bigger scale.

Busy shoppers were being attacked, and because of the amount of people running it was difficult to see who were the infected and who the potential victims were. It wasn't until an individual was attacked that they could tell who was the infected and who was not.

The next footage was of another city. People could be seen running along Broad Street, Birmingham, and the scenes were similar to the one in Oxford Street. The third and final footage wasn't of a city. It was mobile phone footage from a place in Yorkshire called Flamingo Land.

The fifteen second film that was shown over and over again was being filmed by a female saying "Oh my God" repeatedly and was filming the Hitchers tearing through the theme park and taking men, women and children down by a roller coaster ride called _Mumbo Jumbo_.

The phone shook even more as they headed for the phone owner and after she released a scream, the phone fell to the floor.

Jack and Ianto glared at one another in horror at what they had just seen.

Liam Kent looked at their faces and snickered, "Anyone up for another cup of tea? Or would you prefer something stronger?"


	38. Red Red Wine

Sue picked up her glass of red, took a sip, then suddenly broke down.

Liam flashed Ianto a look whilst Joan went to comfort Sue. Liam told them to use the spare room if they wanted, and the women left the men on their own.

"She lost her son not long ago." Ianto tried to explain to Liam.

"Oh well," Liam cackled. "More wine for us."

Ianto was taken aback by his attitude, but didn't want to verbally attack him for his comment as he was putting them up for the night.

_Maybe this is what he's like._

_Or maybe it's all an act._

"Women," Liam snickered. "They like a good cry now and again, don't they?"

Ianto remained silent and sipped his wine. Despite taking them in, Ianto was beginning to dislike this Liam character.

"I couldn't believe how easy it was to kill those things," Liam suddenly blurted out.

"They can die just like the rest of us," Ianto spoke up. "The owner of the last guesthouse we were in had his throat damaged by a Hitcher, and when he turned he dropped to the floor straight after. I'm guessing from blood loss."

"Well if that's the case, people who have been infested and have had severe injuries must eventually bleed to death."

"Maybe they just heal quicker than us. I don't really know."

The men fell silent as new footage came onto the screen. They watched as mobile phone footage was showing the Hitchers wreaking havoc at a circus in Lichfield.

"So what's it like living round these parts?" Ianto asked. "I mean...before all of this happened."

"A bit boring, to be fair. There're a few guesthouses, farms and a few pubs scattered along the barrens, as well as some residential areas. We have a quiet existence, and the tourists that stop by just about covers the mortgage. We did have a disappearance once."

"A disappearance?"

"About four years ago; a young girl called Joss Haines disappeared. Never found her."

"That's awful."

"It was on the main media channels for a week. It brought in some business though."

"Joss Haines." Ianto nodded in thought. "I think I remember that."

"Man, she was only fourteen." Liam finished off his glass and grabbed another bottle from the kitchen, returned to the living room and unscrewed the cap. His big hand wrapped around the middle of the bottle.

He poured himself another glass and without asking Ianto, topped him up.

Ianto remarked, with his tongue firmly in his cheek, "I thought you said not to get too drunk."

"Man, it takes three bottles to get _me_ drunk on red wine."

Liam looked over his shoulder and said quietly, "A few months ago, around Easter time, a couple of middle aged women from France stayed the night in the guest room. They got pissed and, fuck me, what a night _that_ was. Do you know what I mean?"

Liam began winking at Ianto.

"Not really." Ianto decided to play dumb.

"While Junior was sleeping in the next room I was in mine with the French birds."

"Playing scrabble?"

"Yeah, very funny." Liam seemed to be taking Ianto's teasing well, and was pleased to have some adult male company to converse with.

"So do you sleep with _all_ your guests? Should _I_ be worried?"

"You don't need to worry. I've never been balls deep in a man before, not my thing. But I have my fair share."

"I could imagine." Ianto took a slurp of the wine, the alcohol was loosening his lips. "I've seen the sheep on the hills."

"Man, you're a cheeky bastard," Liam laughed. "I like you. Maybe we should make this stay longer, until our government sorts this mess out."

"I doubt that's going to happen."

"No?"

Ianto nodded towards the television where constant footage was being showed. "At the speed they're going at, this infestation is gonna spread rapid. They'll end up being more of _them_ than there is of _us_."

"What's your family situation like?" Liam leaned over and asked another question. "You have kids?"

"No, thankfully." Ianto shook his head. "Neither does Jack."

"I have a sister and a nephew in Bristol. Her name is Kate, and my nephew is called Connor. Fingers crossed they're okay. Also have a brother, but he's a twat."

"Can't you contact them?"

Liam waggled his head and seemed to have lost his cheeky attitude, which was being replaced with a more sombre look on his features. "Tried phoning her, Facetime, even tried Facebook...nothing."

"What about your parents?"

"Dead."

"Same here."

Liam took a gulp of wine and looked behind him, wondering what was keeping the girls.

Ianto gulped, knowing that it could be a potential tricky subject, and said in a nervous tone, "You never mentioned Junior's mother."

Liam smiled. "No I didn't."

There was a sudden bang and the men jumped in fright. Liam was immediately embarrassed by this and immediately rose to his feet, picking up a crowbar by the side of him that Ianto hadn't noticed before.

A teary Sue and Joan ran into the room and Joan predictably asked, "What the fuck was that?"

"It's them," cried Sue. "I know it's them."

"Calm down, girl," snapped Liam. "Don't get your tits in a twist. I think someone ran at the door."

Junior then came into the room. "Dad, one of those fuckers is in the car park."

"There you go." Liam used his hands to gesture everyone to calm down. "Just the one."

Jack picked up the shotgun and said sternly, "I'll go and check it out."

"No you fucking won't." Liam walked over and lowered the gun that Jack was holding. "It's probably a stray. One blast of that thing and you'll get dozens of them at the door. Then we'll be in trouble."

"I already know that," Jack sighed. "So are we just gonna sit here?"

"No, I'll go down."

Liam crept down the stairs with Ianto and Jack not far behind, looked through the spy-hole, then slowly opened the door and stepped into the fresh air.

The small beast was no older than four and had its back to him. Liam knew this was going to be a difficult kill. The child may have been infested, but it was still human.

Although it was for the safety of his son and himself that this thing should be removed, it was still committing murder. Wasn't it?

Liam looked over his shoulder to see Jack and Ianto behind him. He had a small audience now, so he needed to act cool and not think too much about the fact that he was about to kill a small child.

He cleared his throat, a noise that was loud enough to attract its attention, and saw the child turn around. It was just ten yards away, eyes bloodshot. It snarled and ran at him with vicious pace.

Liam tightened his grip on his crowbar with his clammy hands and once in range he struck out, smashing the front of its head. It tumbled to the ground and never got back up again. Blood poured from the head from its little body and Liam could feel himself getting nauseous.

Liam looked at Ianto. "Help me drag it by the pond."

Ianto said okay, and each man took an arm and walked to the back of the car park and dumped the body by the trees as Jack followed with the gun.

"So this is the pond." Ianto looked out. It wasn't that big, but it was a beautiful setting with the hills behind it. He could see a cabin on the tiny island that was in the middle.

Liam chuckled, noticing that Ianto was staring at the cabin. "And that's where that old bastard stays."

"I think we better get inside."

Liam nodded and wiped the bloody crowbar on the grass. He, Jack and Ianto made the small journey back to the main door of the pub, where the door was wide open with Joan standing by it. Ianto was the first to enter the establishment, but Liam's entry was put on hold when he turned to the side and threw up. After he spat the last bits of puke from inside of his mouth, he looked at Jack, who was looking at him, and said, "Must have been something I ate."

He never responded. Joan shut the door once he was in, locked and bolted it.

All of them went upstairs to the living area and was in shock after seeing the demise of the little boy.

When was this going to end?

After the episode of destroying the little boy, they had begun to calm down thanks to two more bottles of wine that had been opened. It had been getting on for midnight when Liam announced that they should all retire to the attic.

Finally dragging Junior off of his Xbox, they went through a door, which Liam locked afterwards, and trudged up some stairs to the attic.

"We stay here for the night," Liam slurred, obviously from too much wine from before.

Jack could see a couch in the corner and a double bed at the other side of the room. It was an attic, but it was just like a bedroom.

"Not bad for an attic," Sue spoke up.

"It's actually my room, girl." Liam announced. "Junior sleeps in his room downstairs, usually, and the other two rooms are for guests. Haven't had any of them for nearly a week. We'd be more comfortable with a room of our own, but if these things break in..."

"We'd be in danger." Ianto nodded. "I understand."

" _I'd_ be in danger," Liam scoffed and ran his fingers over his hairless head.

"Me and Junior. I don't give a shit about you lot, but the fact is if one of those things breaks in and comes up the stairs and a spider thing attacks...Sue, for example," Liam pointed at Sue who was now sitting on the couch next to Jack, "then there would be _two_ of them in my home. No! We all stay together."


	39. little pig, let me come in

Sue gasped, and sat upright.

It was the early hours of Tuesday morning, and she took a few seconds to realise where she was.

Once her brain reminded her that she was in someone else's home and Tyler was dead, she broke down in tears, stirring others. Gwen was lying next to her in the double bed with Rhiannon and the babies and Gwen placed her arm around her.

Micha made little noises as Rhiannon tried to shush her back to sleep and David's silent glare was peeking over the blanket.

Ianto had opted to take the hard floor with Jack and Owen, as Liam and Junior took the couch and were practically sleeping on top of one another. Tosh and Owen were cuddling in a large chair and Ianto withheld the urge to poke at his foot.

"Gonna shut up?" Liam cruelly snapped in the darkness.

"She's lost her son, you cruel bugger!" Gwen scolded. "Have a fucking heart!"

"Just remember who put you up tonight."

"And we're very thankful for it," Ianto chipped in. It appeared that everyone was now awake.

Jack snarled, "And just remember who's got the shotgun."

Liam laughed mockingly, but Gwen ignored him and turned her full attention to Sue, holding her and giving her words of comfort.

Jack had empathy for the woman, even more so because it was _him_ that had to kill Tyler.

"Dad?" Junior said.

"Yes, son."

"What happens if they come in?"

Liam responded quickly. "They won't. As long as we remain quiet and keep the lights off..."

"But if they did..."

"Then we'd fight our way out," Ianto joined in on the conversation. "We could leave in the vehicles. Or we could get to the pond and swim across to that tiny island."

"Fuck that. I won't be doing that." There was sudden panic in Junior's voice and his tone suggested that he had lost his cockiness and bravado that he had earlier on. "Dad. I don't want to go near the pond. I—"

"It's okay, Junior." His father appeased. "It won't come to that. We won't be going anywhere near any water. Okay?"

"Okay."

Ianto was baffled by the conversation and the panic that had suddenly engulfed the usually-cocky youngster, but he was too tired to think about it and tiredness prevailed. It prevailed over all of them once more.

The noise was loud enough to drag all of them out of their sleep and Sue was the first to react. "What the fuck was that?"

A small light came on from Liam's phone. He said, "I'll check it out. It's _my_ place. Probably just another stray."

He picked up his crowbar.

He looked at the time on his phone. 5:23am. It would be daylight outside by now.

Ianto grabbed the gun and chose to go with Liam. Liam never protested. It was his premises, but Ianto felt that Liam wasn't as tough as he looked. Once again Jack silently fell in behind him, one hand on the small of his back.

Ianto handed back the shotgun to Jack so he had his hands free, the knife in his pocket a whisper of strength.

Ianto could understand Liam being nervous. This was a unique situation.

Liam had probably been used to throwing out thugs and drunken customers over the years, but this was something completely different. He, like everybody else, was in the middle of a disastrous nightmare that nobody was prepared for. In order to survive, he knew he was going to have to kill now and again. He knew it was something he had to do if he wanted to keep his son protected, but it didn't mean he was comfortable with it.

As soon as Liam reached the back door at the bottom of the stairs he peered out of the spy-hole, but couldn't see a thing.

Ianto, who was behind him and holding the knife in his sweaty palms, tapped him on the shoulder and asked in a whisper, "Anything?"

Liam shook his head and swapped his crowbar from the right hand to the left.

"Can't see any of those cunts anywhere."

They remained where they were for a few minutes and finally Jack spoke up. "Maybe it'll be better if we put someone on a watch from now on."

"Oh, are you thinking of staying a while?" Liam sarcastically responded. "Anyway, what good would it do, man? We're in the attic. That's safe enough. If they want to get in, they'll get in. The front of the pub is fragile. Yes, the bay windows have small panes and are hard to get through, but it won't stop them. I wouldn't tell Junior that though."

"I saw one of them head-butting their way to get at someone in their car."

"There you go."

Another noise, like the sound of a scraping shoe, suddenly alerted the men, and Liam took another peep through the spy-hole.

"Anything?" Ianto whispered impatiently.

"Yeah." Liam could see two men walking around on the almost-barren car park and were checking out the pub. "It's not them. It looks like two normal blokes."

"Ask them what they want."

Liam wasn't so sure. "Maybe I should let them have a look around and wait for them to fuck off."

"Just let them know that people are in here. At least then they won't break into the place."

"Wait, man." Liam carried on looking. "I need to make sure they're definitely not infested."

"How can you tell in the bloody dark?"

"I don't know." Liam shrugged. "You just can. You can tell by the body language."

With Liam looking out and now Ianto with his ear to the door, they could hear voices. They had never heard the infested speak, in fact, the news broadcasts claimed that the contaminated beings can't seem to speak, for reasons that they didn't understand.

The two men began checking out the Renault and the Subaru jeep.

They then approached the door and gave it a shove. Liam suspected that the men had already tried this, and that was the noise that had aroused them in the first place.

"You better say something before they break down the door," warned Ianto.

Liam nodded and said, whilst continuing to peer out, "Is it just you two out there?"

The two men looked shocked and pleased when they heard a human voice. Both men approached the door and were both of average build, dark hair, and seemed like decent individuals to look at.

Liam giggled to himself. _I could take them, if I had to_.

"Yes, it's just me and my brother," one of them spoke, a man with a lisp. "We were on a camping trip and..."

"Where's your car?" Liam enquired.

"Ran out of petrol. Had to ditch it." The same man spoke, whilst the other one lingered in the background, his head twisting from side-to-side. Both men looked frightened. "There were four of us. When we were pitched up we started getting reports from the news off our phones about what was happening. An hour later we were attacked by some man—a Hitcher, I guess. We drove away when another two turned up. We left everything behind us in the tent where we had pitched up: food, water, clothes, our phones..."

The other brother began to speak. "We just saw the pub and hoped we could stay for one night, before heading back home."

"Where's home?"

"Rochdale."

"Look," the other brother said, the one with the lisp. "We're sorry to be a burden, but could we possible stay for a while? It's not safe out here."

"No shit, Columbo. Wait." Liam turned to Ianto and Jack then asked, "What do you think?"

"They seem okay, and they wouldn't have come here if they weren't desperate. I suppose we're alright for food...for now." Jack shrugged.

"I'm not sure. They look like a pair of manky cunts."

"You have a great way with words, Liam," Ianto laughed. "If we refuse them, and if they're _that_ frightened, they could break into the pub anyway."

"Okay, you can come in," Liam announced through the door. "Hang on a minute."

Liam grabbed the shotgun off of Ianto, ran upstairs to the living area on the first floor, then went into the bathroom and put the gun in the large cupboard under the sink.

Liam quickly returned and Ianto gave him a strange look.

Liam winked. "Trust me."

"Ready to let them in?" Ianto began to grind his teeth.

"Ready."


	40. a drink or three

BBC and SKY News were now down, for whatever reason, and Lloyd had to settle for CNN. They all listened, and although the US were on high alert, it appeared that this disaster wasn't really something that was affecting the world, it was something that was happening in the UK only.

"Holy fuck!" Kyle scratched at his brown hair and continued to glare at the TV. "This is bad. The trouble is we're an island."

"Isn't that a good thing?" remarked Joan. "The less people are infested, the better."

"No it's not." Kyle began to shake and his demeanour was making Lloyd and Ianto tetchy. Dylan, Kyle's brother, just sat in silence with his head down.

"Why the fuck not, man?" Lloyd sat in his chair with his arms folded, his muscular forearms bulging.

"Because we're an island, and if they did it there'd be no collateral damage for other countries, with the exception of France and Ireland...maybe."

"What the fuck are you talking about, man?" snapped Lloyd.

"They need to consider the safety of the rest of the world, right?" Nobody answered Kyle. Nobody knew what he was talking about.

Kyle sighed, "They're gonna nuke the shit out of us."

Ianto sighed, "They won't do that."

"How do you know?"

"It's too severe, too final," added Ianto. "What they'll do is send in the military, NATO, the US, as well as others, and clean the place up. Millions will be killed, but that's understandable."

They all continued to watch the TV in silence, and ten long minutes had passed, but there was news reports suggesting that France, Spain, Belgium and Germany had experienced pockets of violence.

"Looks like this thing is going to be global after all," sighed Ianto, then dropped his head in his hands.

Kyle shook his head and was becoming hysterical. "I still think they'll nuke us."

"More reason for us to stay in the Barrens," his brother, Dylan, spoke up. "If they do bomb us they'll go for the populated areas—the cities."

Gwen guffawed, "Fallout could be a bit of a problem."

"What's wrong with you people?" Kyle stood up and was shaking with fear and anger. "Are you all off your rocker? You all seem so calm about it."

"I can tell you now, man," said Lloyd, "the last thing that we are is calm. I had to kill an infected child yesterday and almost shat a brick. Now...sit the fuck down and stop pissing in your nappy."

"And _we're_ only here due to luck," Ianto chipped in. "We're not calm. We're all still in shock. This is a lot to take in."

"Fuck this!" Kyle stormed out of the living room, and a concerned Dylan followed after his brother and called after him.

Lloyd stood to his feet and yelled, "And where the fuck do you think you're going, man?"

"This is a pub, isn't it?" Kyle yelled as he progressed down the stairs, his brother right behind him.

"I'm going to the bar for a drink."

Jack, Ianto and Owen looked at Lloyd for a reaction.

"Not a bad idea," snickered Lloyd. "I suppose we better go down there anyway in case they do something stupid, especially that Kyle fellow."

"Don't you trust them?" queried Ianto.

"He's a man, and he has access to a free bar, so... _no_ , I don't trust him. We can have a couple of brandies to calm us, but let's not go overboard."

"About time," scoffed Gwen. "I was wondering when you were going to offer us a proper drink."

"I did offer you wine the other night."

"I want to thank you for letting us stay," Sue said, trying desperately to lighten the mood. "I know you don't know us—"

"None of us really know each other," added Jack. "This thing just seemed to have thrown us together."

"Well, I certainly trust you lot more than I trust _them_ ," Lloyd began picking his teeth with his finger and managed to pick out the bit of nut stuck in the back of his mouth.

They could hear the clinking of bottles coming from the bar area downstairs.

Lloyd sighed and approached the exit of the living room.

"Where're you going?" asked Gwen.

"I thought you wanted a drink?" Lloyd laughed, then clicked his fingers. "I better tell Junior where we're going."

"What is it with Junior?" Gwen questioned. "As soon as Ianto mentioned crossing the pond, he freaked out."

Lloyd ignored the woman and said to Ianto, "Are you coming? We need to keep an eye on these two retards."

"What did you let them in for in the first place?" Sue spoke with confusion in her tone.

"Because they were people in need. I didn't turn you lot away, did I?"

Sue never answered. She knew he had made a good point.

Ianto remained sitting on the sofa, massaging, his temples.

Lloyd called over, "Are you coming, Ianto, or what?"

"I'll be down in a sec." Ianto continued to massage his temples, his eyes closed. "I've got a blinding headache. I had a shit sleep last night."

"Well, there's tablets in the kitchen drawer if you need them." Lloyd then snickered, "But don't take the blue ones, otherwise you'll be pogo-ing down those stairs."

Lloyd went to a bedroom and told his son he was going downstairs, then went to the bar with Joan and Sue in tow.

Ianto sighed and lay on the couch, Jack still massaging his temples.

Six minutes later he fell asleep.

Rhiannon watched silently from the bed where she was nursing the baby.

.

.

.

.

"My nerves are shot to pieces," moaned Kyle. He went behind the bar, with Lloyd's approval, and poured himself and his brother a pint of lager.

"Don't go overboard," Lloyd warned. "Maybe we should all have a brandy or two to settle the nerves."

"Great idea." Kyle looked for the bottle of brandy and took it down.

"I'm fine," said Sue. "I'm okay with lemonade."

"Nonsense." Kyle took two full glasses off the bar and handed a glass each to Joan and Sue. Both women took the glasses. Dylan handed Lloyd a glass, then he and his brother downed theirs quickly before starting on the pint that Kyle had pulled earlier.

"Easy now." Lloyd was beginning to become a little tetchy. "Let's not go overboard."

Kyle turned to Lloyd and put his hand in his pocket. He pulled out his wallet, took out some cash and slapped the money on the bar. "We've had the fright of our lives. We're just trying to let off some steam."

Kyle pointed at the money on the bar. "That should cover it."

"I don't care about the money," snickered Lloyd. "In fact, the way things are going money will be pretty much useless to us if things don't improve. I just want to make sure we're all focused."

Gwen chipped in with her own advice for the two new arrivals. "If they come for us, like they did back at the guesthouse, being drunk will only get you killed—well, infested at least."

"Don't you worry about us, love," Dylan remarked, now leering at Joan.

"I'm not worried," she said, straight-faced.

"Nothing wrong with a bit of Dutch courage in case the shit hits the fan."

Joan sighed, and looked over to Lloyd for some support. The pub owner was already regretting letting in these men, and was trying to get them to slow down before any unfortunate incidents occurred.

Dylan and Kyle were like two kids in a sweet shop and began to look at what else they could drink.

Kyle asked, "What else do you fancy, bro?"

Dylan pointed. "Let's try some Jack Daniels."

Gwen threw a glare in Lloyd's direction and said, "Aren't you gonna do something?"

Lloyd sighed, rubbing the palms of his hands over his face. "I suppose I better"


	41. damn it

"You still think the Doctor is doing something about this?" Ianto asked once the others were out of earshot.

"Yeah, my VM is going nuts with activity, he's here and up to something" Jack whispered, "I'm happy to just lay low and wait it out. As long as you are OK."

"And you?" Ianto asked, "Mister Silent?"

"I don't know" he finally replied, "I know your sister is looking to you and I also know you are better at handling this than me. My gods, Ianto you are making me proud."

Ianto blushed and looked down, then over at David and Micha asleep on the mattress.

Rhiannon returned from the bathroom and settled in the mattress with a soft smile.

.

.

.

.

He was dreaming, and in his dream Ianto was running along the country road, along the Brrens. It was daylight, and his feet slapped the hard tarmac.

He had hit a steep hill. He was beginning to tire and his thighs became heavier as the hill was already taking its toll on him. He looked around and could see the gowned man chasing him. As he reached the peak of the hill, Ianto welcomed the flat surface and tried to pick his pace up, but it felt like his legs were made of steel and his pace was actually slowing whilst the gowned man was gaining on him.

Out of breath, Ianto stopped running and decided to take his chances with the infected individual. Ianto shook with fear, as the infected person ran at him with a vicious snarl, and he only had a few seconds to think about how he was going to defend himself. Should he kick out at the knee, temporarily crippling the manic man?

A person wasn't a threat if they were unable to walk. Or should he strike out and try and aim a punch to the throat?

The assailant would be useless if they couldn't breathe.

Instead, Ianto panicked and the gowned man jumped at him; both of them were wrestling with one another and rolling along the floor. Ianto was now close-up to his aggressor and had his hands around his throat to prevent him from getting bitten.

The contaminated human growled at Ianto as he was being prevented from tearing a piece out of him, and Ianto could see its horrible yellow teeth and its diseased bloodshot eyes. This sight alone sent him into spasms of panic. As the battle continued, Ianto seemed to be losing his grip, but just as he thought he was finished the gowned man began to speak to him in a gentle voice with an American accent.

"Ianto. Ianto. Wake up. Wake up, Ianto."

.

.

.

"Ianto, Ianto."

Ianto was in the middle of a dream when he opened his eyes and shot up, startled. He looked to the side of him, to see who was shaking him. It was Jack.

He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and groaned, "What is it?"

"You'll have to come downstairs."

"Why?"

"We might need your help." Sue whispered beside Jack.

"What?"

Jack sighed, "It's all kicking off downstairs."

"Fuck." Ianto moaned and stood up straight, stretching his back. "I knew the trip to the bar would be a bad idea."

He checked his sister, asleep with the babies and then left the room.

Ianto trudged down the stairs, with Sue in front of him, and as he approached the door he could hear raised voices coming from the bar area. He turned to Sue.

"How long have I been out?"

"Dunno." She pulled a face as she began to think. "About an hour or so."

Ianto walked in, rubbing his eyes, and could see that there was a stand-off and that the new arrival, Kyle, was holding a broken bottle with Dylan by his side.

Gwen and Lloyd looked like they were trying to defuse the situation.

"What the fuck is going on?" Ianto was still half-asleep.

"They're both drunk," said Gwen, referring to the brothers. "Lloyd told them that they had had enough, things got heated and Lloyd banned them from having any more to drink."

"And then," Lloyd chipped in, "I asked them to leave, but they refused, so I hit them both. And now this."

"We're not going anywhere!" Kyle yelled with a slur. He was obviously intoxicated and his brother appeared to be in a similar position. "We're just letting off a bit of steam."

"A bit of steam?" Gwen guffawed falsely, and pointed at Dylan. "He tried to grab my tits."

"I was just having a laugh," protested Dylan. "Jesus, don't be so fucking sensitive."

"We can't have that." Ianto shook his head in disgust.

"Which is why I've asked them to leave," Lloyd remarked.

"Sending us out there will be like giving us a death sentence," said Kyle. "You can't kick us out because my brother got drunk and groped Joan."

"You were laughing when he did it," snarled Joan.

"Fine," Dylan huffed. "If you want us to leave, then we should be allowed to take one of those vehicle outside, preferably the jeep."

"No chance." Jack was adamant, and puffed out his chest. "That Renault's mine, and the jeep is Lloyd's."

"Wait a minute." Ianto held up his hand and turned to Lloyd, Sue and Jack.

"Let them take one. We'll still have one left."

"And what if this place comes under attack?" Joan said. "We might need to escape in both vehicles. There's too many of us."

"Even if you manage to throw us out by force," Dylan sneered, "we'll come back and smash the place up."

"Charming," Sue bravely spoke up.

"Man, I'm fucking sick of this." Lloyd went over to the pool-table and grabbed a cue. He stormed over, holding the cue, and could see the fright in both men's' eyes. "No more Mr Good guy."

He swung the cue at Dylan and caught him on the side of his arm, making him fall to the ground and scream out. Kyle lunged at Lloyd with the broken bottle, but Lloyd manage to swerve out of the way and palmed Kyle in the face, breaking his nose. Still clutching the bottle he took another swipe at Lloyd and took a knee to his stomach from the pub owner.

At this point Dylan had taken his belt off and had wrapped it around both of his hands. He looped the belt over Lloyd's head and was beginning to strangle him, making him drop the cue. Both men fell to the floor, and as Ianto and Joan began to walk over to try and diffuse the situation, Kyle booted Lloyd in the face and put the broken bottle to his neck.

"Any of you fuckers move," warned Kyle, "and I'll make this cunt bleed all over the floor."

Dylan picked himself up and stood next to his brother. "This is what's going to happen. _We're_ staying, and _you're_ leaving. You've got two vehicles outside, so get in them and don't come back. I think that's fair enough."

Lloyd was lying on his front, too scared to move as Kyle was crouched with the bottle still placed on his neck, but it didn't stop him from speaking up. "That's not gonna happen."

"Oh, I think you'll find that it is." Kyle began to laugh, stood up straight and put his right foot on Lloyd's back so he couldn't get up, and said to him, "Make one move and I'll cut you."

Dylan giggled, "Yeah, and we'll cut up your fucking son while we're at it."

"Don't you threaten my boy," Lloyd hissed, saliva slipping out of his mouth with anger. "He's upstairs on his Xbox. He doesn't even know this is going on."

Jack turned around and began walking away.

"And where do you think you're going, Jack?" Dylan snarled.

He stopped walking and said, "I'm going upstairs for a piss. That _is_ allowed, isn't it?"

Neither brother said a word and Jack carried on walking.

Before he disappeared, Lloyd spoke out. "Jack. If you run out of toilet roll, there's more under the cupboard where the sink is."

"Erm..." Jack was slightly puzzled by Lloyd's announcement. "I'll be fine, thank you."

Kyle clicked his fingers and pointed at his brother, Dylan. "Go and follow him, and get the kid down. If he struggles, give him a slap. Leave the one with the kids, she has nice tits."

Dylan did what he was told and followed Jack up the stairs, staggering from the drink he had consumed earlier.

"Jesus. A man can't even have a piss in peace," he snapped as he heard his footsteps behind him whilst he was making his way upstairs.

"Don't lock the door," said Dylan.

He shut the bathroom door and locked it.


	42. Too loud

Hearing the door being bolted Dylan yelled, "I said: Don't lock the door!"  
"You can kiss my arse," Jack sneered. "After grabbing Gwen's tits earlier on, I don't trust you."  
"What's going on?" Now, Junior was standing in the hallway, outside of his bedroom.  
"Ah," responded Dylan. "I was just about to get you. Things have changed."  
"What the fuck are you talking about?"  
"Watch your mouth, kid," Dylan snapped. "You and your old man are leaving."  
"Fuck off!" the youngster began to laugh.  
"You think I'm fucking joking?"  
Junior continued to stand outside his room, his arms folded and full of attitude.  
"My dad won't allow this."  
"Your dad is downstairs in a heap."  
Junior laughed, "Bollocks."  
"I'm not gonna argue with you, kid. Get downstairs." Dylan then turned to the bathroom door and began hammering at it. "Hurry the fuck up, areshole. How long does it take to have a piss?"  
Junior giggled and was re-entering his room.  
"Stay where you are," ordered Dylan, losing control of the situation.  
"Kiss my balls," was Junior's response and slammed his bedroom door shut.  
"Fuck."  
The bathroom door lock was slid open and the door handle was moving, which told Dylan that Jack was about to exit. The door opened.  
"About fucking time." Dylan rubbed his head. The alcohol in his system was making him weary. He looked up and gasped as he saw a double-barrel shotgun pointing at his chest. He immediately held both hands in the air. "Don't shoot."  
"Sorry about that." Jack smiled, holding the shotgun with his finger caressing the trigger. "I needed more toilet roll, so I went into the cupboard and found this."  
"Please, don't shoot."  
"Junior!" Jack called out.  
The bedroom door opened and a shocked Junior stood and glared at the situation in front of him. "What is it?"  
"Keep playing your Xbox until we come up for you, got it?"  
"Erm..okay."  
"What you playing?"  
"One of the Call of Duty games."  
"Well, get back inside and knock yourself out. We'll give you a shout when this is all over."  
"Can I do something, before you go?" Junior asked.  
"Okay, but quickly."  
Junior walked over nonchalantly and punched Dylan in the balls. Dylan lowered his raised arms and doubled over, groaning in discomfort. Junior went back to his room, giggling to himself.  
Jack waited patiently for Dylan to recover, and once he was standing upright again, he said, "Downstairs. Now."  
Dylan walked uncomfortably with the gun pressing into the middle of his back.  
They both entered the bar area and smiles appeared on Ianto and Sue's faces when they saw the situation. Lloyd, still on the floor, desperately tried to look and could see Jack holding the gun.  
"Found it then?" he giggled.  
Kyle held his hands in the air, took his foot off of Lloyd, and the owner of the establishment got to his feet and began to casually brush himself down.  
Dylan then suddenly had a rush of blood to his head. He spun around and took a hold of the gun and Jack and himself struggled.  
Sue and Ianto hid behind a table for fear of the gun going off and could see that Jack was losing the fight.  
The gun then went off twice, and it was Kyle that was hit.  
He was hit in the legs.  
Ianto ran over, now knowing that both barrels were empty, and pushed Dylan over with everything he had. Dylan flew backwards and smacked his head at the bottom of the bar.  
Kyle writhed on the floor, screaming in pain, and Lloyd picked up the broken bottle that Kyle had dropped after he was shot and walked over to Dylan, who was now sat up and rubbing his head. Lloyd pulled Dylan's head back and began ramming the broken bottle into his face like a maniac.  
Dylan screamed as blow after blow hit him, and by the time Lloyd had finished with him he was a bloody mess with many fragments of glass embedded into his skin.  
Almost out of breath, Lloyd dropped what was left of the bottle and said, "Don't you ever threaten to harm my son again."  
Dylan collapsed to the side and bled out, and then Lloyd strolled over to the screaming Kyle.  
"Leave him," Ianto called over. "You've done them enough harm."  
Lloyd ignored Ianto, but before he could inflict more harm on the man, a noise stopped him in his tracks.  
He looked over to Ianto, then took a gander out of his window.  
Even Kyle stopped his screaming.  
"What is it?" asked Sue.  
At first Lloyd didn't respond, he just glared out, almost as if he was under a spell.  
"Lloyd," Ianto tried. "What is it?"  
Lloyd sighed and said, "In the attic. All of you."  
"Why?"  
"Well, thanks to the screamer over there," he pointed at Kyle, "And Mr Shotgun, we've attracted some admirers."  
"What are you talking about, Lloyd?" Sue asked with a shiver in her words.  
Lloyd turned and glared at the three of them. "They're coming."  
As soon as they all reached the bottom of the stairs they could hear the sound of running feet, almost sounding like a stampede. As they reached the first floor to the living quarters, they could still hear the sound of the injured Dylan, pleading for them to save him.  
His yelling had predictably enticed the infected into the bar and Lloyd cussed under his breath. "Fuck. I should have killed him."


	43. deja vu

Shattered glass was the next thing they could hear.

They're in.

Lloyd went into Junior's room and dragged him out.

The screams of Dylan could be heard downstairs and they were guessing that he was being attacked by the Hitchers.

Lloyd closed the attic and they all sat in a circle, listening to the place, both ground floor and first floor, being smashed up by the frantic Hitchers that were desperately looking for something to munch. Lloyd explained to his son what was happening, and Junior began to shake with fear.

Two minutes later, silence engulfed the house.

Lloyd announced with little confidence, "I think they're gone."

Sue wiped her eyes and said to Ianto, out of the blue, "What if they find a cure?"

Ianto was baffled by Sue's statement. "What?"

Sue explained, "You watched as Jack gunned down my son, but there could be a cure for all this. He could have been saved."

"Sue, you're not thinking straight," Jack said. "He would have eventually got out of that car and attacked us for sure. If it wasn't for the seatbelt, he would have already left the car."

"I'm sorry, Sue." Ianto lowered his head. "There was nothing else we could do."

"I can't believe what we've had to go through over the last couple of days." Sue was still sobbing, and was beginning to get on Lloyd's nerves.

"I know." Ianto nodded. "I can't help thinking about Stripy Steve."

"Our story isn't that unique," Lloyd butted in. "I don't really want to shit in your porridge, but there's gonna be thousands of people out there with more horrific stories than yours."

He then glared at Joan and Ianto. "You two don't have kids. Imagine your whole family being affected by this."

"Alright, Lloyd." Ianto was annoyed with Lloyd's negative attitude. "Rhiannon is my sister, those two kids there are mine now! It's not a competition."

"It's not. All I'm saying is...stop feeling sorry for yourselves, man. It's happening. We need to fucking deal with it."

"So what do we do?" Gwen looked around at the adults for answers. "Do we stay up here for the night? Or check the place out when it's quiet?"

"How many cartridges have you got left for that shotgun?" Gwen looked over at Ianto.

Ianto ruffled his hands in his pockets and pulled out just the one cartridge. He gaped over to Jack who shrugged his shoulders, telling him that he had none.

"Maybe some fell out of my pocket," said Ianto.

"Good." Lloyd surprised everyone with his short statement. "It's that thing that's brought these things here, as well as that Dylan's screaming. It can still come in handy as a bat. At least it'll be quieter."

Despite Lloyd's rant, Ianto placed the last cartridge into the gun and snapped it shut and put it on the floor next to his legs. All they had for weapons was the shotgun and Lloyd's crowbar that was leaning in the corner. They had been given knives earlier, but all were left in the living room when they went downstairs to the bar.

"I'm gonna check it out," announced Lloyd

"Fuck it," Ianto stood to his feet. "I'll come with you."

"No you won't. If anything happens to me, I'll need _you_ here." Jack spluttered. "You'd be better off with another person, at least. Just in case you run into trouble. I'm coming too."

Lloyd opened the hatch and saw that the bedroom was bare. "I'm not gonna discuss it anymore. As soon as my feet touch the floor, get these ladders back up."

He looked over to Sue and gave her a wink. Then his eyes clocked Joan, and pointed at her. "That necklace is still bugging me."

Joan smiled, and thought that she may as well tell him, considering he was putting his life on the line and may not be back. "Jimmy was my partner's name. We were both in a car crash. He died, but I managed to scrape through. That's how I got the scar on my neck."

"Mystery solved," Lloyd began to snicker, and then his face adopted a more serious expression. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Joan smiled. "It was five years ago."

"I thought you said you were divorced," Ianto mumbled.

Joan smiled thinly. "I lied."

With the crowbar being held tightly in both hands, Lloyd checked the first room to his left, then the next one. They were both bare, but his nose twitched and knew that they had been in these rooms.

Lloyd quickly peered into the kitchen and could see blood smears on the right hand side of the wall, and two chairs had been knocked over where the dinner tablewas. He went over to the knife board and put a few steak knives into his pocket. He left the kitchen, and had only the living room to check before the nerve-wracking prospect of going downstairs to check out the bar and possibly facing the infested.

.

He crept downstairs, feeling the tips of the blades in his pocket pricking his thigh, and as he gained nearer to the ground floor he could hear growling noises.

He could see blood all over the bar's floor and could see an infested Dylan crawling along it.

Apart from this, the place seemed empty.

Lloyd took a step inside and took a slow walk over to the infected Dylan, whilst scanning the area around him. Two of the windows had been crashed through and there was a hell of a draught.

Jack quickly moved to the side of the Hitcher he could see at the base of the skull, who ironically couldn't even stand, and placed his foot on the back so the infested Dylan couldn't move.

Ianto leaned over and rammed the knife into his neck, piercing the spider, and Lloyd then pulled out the knife and wiped the blood on the clothes before putting it back into his pocket. They had two cars in the car park and he was certain that taking them would be pointless. Where would they go? And what happens once they had left the Barrens? They would be back in a populated town where the danger would be higher.

It appeared the attic was no longer their only option.

With one last scan around, Lloyd trudged up the stairs to the first floor and went into the bedroom where the attic was. He released a sharp whistle and said, "It's me."

"Is it clear?" he heard Sue cry from behind the hatch.

"It is, but I think we're better off in the attic for now. Drop the ladders."

"We're gonna have to leave," he announced.


	44. hurry

"When?" Jack was the first to ask.

"Right now. While they're still at the front of the pub."

Ianto could feel his eyes watering. Was this going to be his last night on earth as a normal human being? "They won't give up."

Lloyd asked, "Do you still have your car keys on you, Owen?"

He nodded.

"Good. I have mine. We'll take both vehicles and try and head to the next pub, about a mile away. So we'll need to turn left when we leave the premises."

"This is insane," Sue sobbed.

"So is staying here," Junior spoke up bravely.

Lloyd pointed up to the opened skylight. "Up to the spine of the roof. I'll meet you all up there. Junior, you go first."

They left one-by-one, and the two remaining individuals, Ianto, Jack and Lloyd, were the last to leave. Lloyd climbed out of the skylight, taking his crowbar with him, and Ianto finally released the ladders and quickly followed Lloyd, leaving the shotgun with the one cartridge behind.

Lloyd reached the top of the roof to see that everybody had made it without any slip-ups.

"Right." Lloyd took a look over to see that the car park at the back of the pub wasmdevoid of any Hitchers. He then passed Junior his crowbar.

"I hope nobody suffers from vertigo," he tried to joke, shivering in the blustery conditions. "Follow my lead and we'll soon be out of here. I hope you've all still got your steak knife each that I gave you earlier."

Lloyd carefully went to the side of the roof, turned around so he was facing his companions, then slowly slipped down and took a hold of the drainpipe. He slid down, paranoid that there could be some of those things waiting below. He reached the bottom and told Junior to drop him the crowbar.

It landed in the grass, and Lloyd picked it up as a nervous Tosh was next to slide down the drainpipe with David on her back like a wee monkey.

Once she was down, Rhiannon with the baby in a backpack and Joan was next and Lloyd kept on looking from side-to-side, expecting them to appear from around one of the corners of the building. It didn't happen, and once the rest were on the ground Lloyd told them to follow him to the car park.

Lloyd pointed at Jack and said, "Take Sue and Ianto in your car with his family. Owen, Tosh, Gwen and Junior goes with me."

The jeep was the closest, and as soon as Lloyd and Junior approached the vehicle a noise was heard that stopped everybody in their tracks. All gazed in horror as dozens of Hitchers poured out of the main door and from behind the building, heading for them with ferocious pace.

In the few seconds they had to think, all knew that they didn't have time to escape in the vehicles. By the time they had got in and started the engine, they'd be attacked.

Ianto had witnessed just one of those things head-butt its way through a car in seconds to get to somebody. There was no chance thirty to forty of these things were going to allow two vehicles to leave the premises.

"Fuck it!" snapped Ianto, looking over his shoulder as the Hitchers were advancing. "To the pond."

They all followed, but Junior protested pleasingly, "No, dad. Please. No!"

Jack could see they were about eight seconds from being taken down. "We don't have time for this shit!"

Lloyd grabbed Junior and headed for the pond.

"Dad!" Junior screamed. "No!"

"What's his pissing problem?" Owen exclaimed.

"He can't swim!" Lloyd admitted.

.

.

.

.

They all entered the pond and were all waist-deep when the first one attacked.

Jack and Ianto began to swim to the island, heading for the cabin. Lloyd brought his crowbar back, when the first Hitcher ran into the pond after them, and smacked it.

It fell into the water and another entered and dived for Sue who was lagging behind.

Both went under the water and then they came back up with Sue screaming. Her cheek had been ripped open, then the red-eyed male beast sank its teeth into her neck and ripped out her throat.

She fell back into the water and Lloyd went over and rammed his crowbar like a spear through the forehead of the thing. Blood poured out and the creature fell once Lloyd removed the crowbar. He dropped it into the water, and grabbed a frightened Junior who was five yards behind him with the water up to his waist.

"Swim!" yelled Lloyd. "Everybody swim!"

He looked behind him in the dusky area to see that Jack and Ianto were already halfway across the pond on their backs with a baby each on their chest.

He grabbed a hold of Junior and told him to grab his back once the water reached up to their necks.

With a fourteen-year-old kid on his back and wet clothes, the swim for Lloyd was going to be a struggle. He was exhausted once he was two thirds across the water and stopped swimming and stood to find that he could touch the floor. Junior was panicking but his father told him to shut the fuck up.

Lloyd told Junior to let go of him and stand, in which he did. Lloyd then looked behind him to see if the Hitchers had caught them up. He couldn't see anything. He walked, extremely slowly, through the pond as they progressed nearer to the island where the cabin was, with Junior next to him, and could see Jack and Ianto standing up on the island, soaking wet as they helped Rhiannon and Gwen out, Owen struggling with Tosh.

The water was now up to Lloyd and Junior's knees when Ianto pointed up ahead. "Lloyd. Take a look."

Still in the water, Lloyd turned around and could see dozens of the infested by the water's edge, reluctant to go in and chase the survivors. They were growling with anger, and Lloyd could see seven bodies floating in the centre of the pond.

Although Lloyd was relieved at what he could see, he was baffled and shook his head. "What the fuck happened?"

By the time Lloyd and Junior had walked their soaked bodies out of the pond, Ianto began to explain. "They went in after us, but some of them drowned once it got too deep. Others, who were in shallow water, went back to the edge. They seemed to be learning."

"They must have forgotten how to swim." Lloyd scratched his head.

"I've no pissing idea," said Ianto. "We know they can die like the rest of us because they're still human, but some skills they seemed to have forgot. They can certainly run, but swimming? Climbing?"

Jack pointed at the bodies that could be seen floating in the pond. "Unfortunately, one of them is Sue. I saw her throat getting torn out."

"Me too," said Lloyd,

"Poor Sue," whispered Ianto.

Lloyd and Gwen nodded in agreement, in unison, and looked at one another with sadness in their faces.

Ianto and Jack held hands; they stood in shock on the small island with their soaked frames. Junior and Lloyd stood next to them, looking at the carnage of the bodies floating in the water, and then turning their attention to the dozens of Hitchers on the other side of the pond, not far from Lloyd's pub, aching to rip them apart, but were reluctant after seeing some of their own drowning whilst trying to cross the water.

"Now what, dad?" Junior asked with a shudder in his voice.

"I don't know, son." Lloyd shivered, as the wet clothes were making them all tremble with the cold. "But a blanket would be nice right now."

"This has to be the weirdest fucking couple of days I've ever had," Rhiannon spoke.

Lloyd guffawed, "There's probably a few thousand people have said the same thing."

"Where to now?" Jack asked, and pointed over to the cabin. "There?"

Lloyd looked around the circular tiny island that was no bigger than a football pitch. Apart from the cabin, there was a shed and a few bushes and trees. That was it. It was a strange place to live. Lloyd nodded, finally responding to Jack's query.

"Well, there's nowhere else to go."

"And what if this...guy doesn't take us in?"

"He will."

Ianto queried with suspicion, "But what if he doesn't?"

"Then we'll kill him," Lloyd said bluntly, and looked around for a reaction. He looked at Jack and Ianto and announced, "Although this has been forced upon us, we're a team now. We stick together. Agreed?"

They both nodded and never responded verbally.

Lloyd shook with the cold and placed his arm around his son. "Okay, son?"

Junior slowly tilted his head to the side and rested it on his dad's shoulder. Junior shook his head, shivering, and sniffed, "Not really."

"We will be."

"Are you sure about that?" Gwen asked from behind.

Lloyd nodded, and pulled Junior closer to him as they both stared at the monsters at the other side of the pond.

"Let's get to that shack," said Ianto, pointing to the place behind him. "I'm cold."

They all looked at one another, turned their backs on the pond, and headed for the cabin.


	45. All Wet

Soaked to the skin, Jack, Ianto, and the others walked the fifty yards to the cabin in hope that the only person living on the small island would allow them to stay for a while.

If he didn't?

They were going to stay anyway.

Lloyd led the way as they silently trudged their wet, shivering bodies to the main door—the only door—of the cabin.

He then peeped over to see the Hitchers still at the water's edge, growling and gnashing, but reluctant to cross and even go in at knee-depth after what had happened to some of their companions from before.

He then looked at the tied up rowing boat on his side of the water. Maybe one day they'll need it. He then looked to his left. To his left was the Hitchers and The White Horse pub in the background. To his right was a place he had never been to before.

It was a mass of trees, a forest, and the sight of it alone made his frame shudder.

Lloyd smiled thinly at Junior and put his arm around his only child. Said Lloyd in a whisper, "If this guy refuses to let us in, then we still take it."

Ianto shivered, "We can't do that."

"If we don't," Lloyd nodded over back to the pond where the infected were waiting for them, "then freezing out here or going back out there is the only three options we have left."

"I don't know," said Ianto. "It seems wrong."

Gwen moaned, "We've been through a lot of shit in such a short space of time, and managed to come through it, unlike the Hortons, that James fellow, Stripy Steve and now Sue."

Ianto was saddened when she mentioned Sue's name.

Jack agreed, "I'm not giving up now."

"But what about them?" Ianto pointed over to the pond. "They're not going _anywhere_ for now."

"We'll just have to ride it out, man," Lloyd chipped in, "and hope the old man has got some food to keep us going for a couple of days. If they somehow learn how to swim, we're gonna have to drag that boat across this small island and travel that way,"

"Right, guys." Ianto pointed at the door to the cabin and added, "Shall we knock? I don't know about you, but I'm freezing my balls off here."

Lloyd turned and knocked the door. All of them shivered as their clothes dripped, and waited as patiently as they could for the door to open. Lloyd sighed and knocked again. "If there's no answer by the third knock, I'm going in regardless."

Nobody responded.

There was still no answer and Lloyd knocked once more with more ferociousness, and placed his hand on the doorknob, ready to try it. He twisted the knob and gave the door a gentle push. He was surprised to see it open and gaped at his companions in surprise.

Lloyd took a hesitant step inside and said 'hello' a couple of times to alert the owner that he now had company. Once they were all inside, Lloyd shut the door, immediately putting the place into darkness. Lloyd opened the door again to provide some kind of light and could see the cabin was as basic as it could be. It was one big room. It had a sink, a gas cooker, an old couch and a mattress in the corner of the place where the old man obviously slept, but there was no old man.

Lloyd went through a few of the drawers. The first drawer had dozens of candles, and he smiled when he found a lighter in the next drawer. He then walked around the room and began to light the four stumpy candles that were already scattered around the place. The place soon lit up once the four flames began to dance.

"Where the hell is he?" Ianto asked, referring to Rob Round.

Nobody answered, because nobody knew.

"I'll check out the back." Ianto began to head for the door. "His rowing boat's still there, so he must be about somewhere."

Ianto took a short walk around the cabin, his wet feet dragging through the bracken and long grass, and once he reached the back of the place the mystery of the missing Rob Round had been solved.

Ianto put his T-shirt over the face and his footsteps made the buzzing flies disperse a little once he got closer to the decomposed body. Ianto had to look away once he saw the maggots writhing excitedly out of the man's eye sockets, and was convinced he was going to be sick. He gulped in a few deep breaths of air and seemed to have kept the little food he had left in his stomach.

He had no idea how Rob Round had died, but judging by the state of his body he had been dead for weeks.

Natural causes?

That's the problem with living on your own, especially when you're an old man, Ianto thought. If anything happens, there's no one to come to your aid.

He took another gape at the body and guessed that he could have had a heart attack whilst he was outside, collapsed, and never got back up again. Whatever way he died, it removed the problem of trying to persuade the owner if they could stay or not.

Ianto returned to the cabin to see the others sitting down on the couch and at the table, all had towels wrapped around their shoulders.

"Great." Ianto smiled. "You found towels."

Lloyd put his hand to the side of him and threw one at Lloyd, which he caught. "And one for you."

"Any sign of the old man?" Gwen shivered next to Junior, and her teeth began to chatter.

"He's dead," Ianto bluntly said. "His body's round the back. Looks like he's been dead for weeks. Probably a heart attack or something."

"We found some food in a cupboard," announced Junior. "Some tins and stuff. No milk or anything."

"I don't think the guy has a fridge." Ianto spoke up.

"The water from the sink will keep us hydrated." Jack took a walk over to the cupboard and could see tins of beans, ravioli and tuna. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to keep all four going for another two days.

"I'm exhausted." Ianto groaned, and tried to joke, "It's early evening. I think I'm gonna find a corner and sleep for a day."

"Do you think we should keep a watch tonight?" asked Lloyd.

"Defo." Gwen scratched at her dark hair and said, "I can do the first stint. Ianto can do the last if he's _that_ tired."

"But what's the point if they're over there?" Junior spoke with tiredness in his tone.

"Just to be on the safe side." Jack smiled at Junior. He could see he was nervous. "If they somehow become brave enough to try and cross, or even quickly learn how to swim across, which I doubt, then someone needs to inform the rest of us what is happening."

"And if they do?" asked Junior, unsure he wanted to hear the answer.

Lloyd intervened, "Then we untie the rowing boat, drag it across the island and put it into the water on the other side and head to the other side of the land, where the forest is."

"I don't want to go into the forest." Junior shook with the cold and his nerves.

"Neither do I, son. But I don't want to get taken either."

"What's that noise?" Ianto stood up, and all of them now stood, in silence, listening to the faint sound of engine noises.

Lloyd peered out of the door and squinted his eyes upwards.

Above him he saw two low flying jets scream past, and watched them until they were just spots in the sky. He felt a presence from behind and turned around to see Jack and Ianto behind him, all trying to get a look at what had been causing the noise.

"That's a good sign, isn't it?" Ianto spoke from behind.

Lloyd nodded. "I think so."

He wasn't so sure.


	46. The End of it

Ianto opened the door wider and stepped out. It was late evening and the sky was dull with black clouds. Drizzle began to fall from the heavens and Ianto walked out with his towel still around his shoulders.

"Come in, Yan," Jack called out. "You're gonna get soaked...again. You'll catch your death."

Ianto ignored his words and walked up to the rowing boat and stood at the edge of the water. He looked across and could see trees and some parts of his abandoned pub, but the Hitchers convulsing on the ground next to their silently screaming hosts took his attention.

"They're done," Ianto announced.

He was soon joined by the others, still with their towels around their shivering shoulders, and stared out in disbelief.

Although there was relief, nobody cracked a smile.

"I wonder if that's all of them dying like that." Junior stood next to his dad and gently pressed his head against his shoulder. This had been the first time that Gwen had seen any emotion between father and son, and was touched by what she saw.

"I think the planes did them in." Lloyd stood up straight, still shivering. "At least nobody will need to keep a watch now."

Junior queried, "You mean they were scared of them—the noise, I mean?"

"I don't think so, Junior," said his father. "I think they were probably stopped by them, maybe even killed them. They're still human, but I don't think they have the intelligence that they had before they were infested."

"I've seen the films," said Junior. "But I never thought they'd be _this_ quick."

Knowing what Junior was trying to say, Ianto said, "They're not zombies, Junior?"

"No?"

"No. They're still people, technically still alive, whose bodies are ravaged with some sort of spider thing that transforms the hosts bodies and minds. The immediate change is a total reversion to an aggressive, feral personality type." Ianto laughed, "Maybe you should have paid more attention to the TV rather than your Xbox."

"That's _my_ fault," Lloyd spoke up. "I didn't really want him to see all of the footage they were showing. He'd seen enough; then I urged him to go to his room and told him that things should die down in a few days."

"According to what we've seen," Jack turned to look at Junior, "an infested individual will attack any human, regardless of past emotional connection, with rabid ferocity, and all the strength and mobility they can muster. Both the biological Hitchhiker, and its primal hosts spread quicker than the creatures in the Romero films you've been watching."

"So what's worse? Them or..." Junior paused and began to feel his throat tighten with emotion.

"I think the good news is that these things were more fragile than what you've seen in the movies." This time it was Gwen's turn to speak. "The better news is that we're in the middle of nowhere and I'm pretty sure we, humans, will overcome this. I reckon these Hitchers have all been hit with whatever those planes were sending out, killing Hitcher and host. By this time tomorrow, we will be safe again."

"We'll be fine." Lloyd now had his arm around his frightened son. "We just need to ride it out, that's all."

"Dad?"

"What is it?"

Junior broke down in front of Ianto and Joan, but appeared oblivious that they were next to him. "I'm still scared."

As both father and son hugged one another, Jack tapped Ianto on the shoulder and made a head gesture to suggest that they should both leave Lloyd and Junior alone during this emotional and delicate period.

With a towel still around their shoulders, Ianto and Jack squelched their way back to the cabin, kicked their shoes off and took off their wet socks and crashed on the couch together.

"You okay?" asked Ianto.

"Not bad, considering..." Jack smiled.

Ianto leaned his head back and looked up to the ceiling. He then closed his eyes and could feel the head of Jack resting on his shoulder.

"I wonder if the Doctor was behind that?" murmured Ianto.

Jack was too tired to respond.

It had been a few days from hell, and neither one was absolutely certain what was in store for them the next day.

As for now, all they both wanted to do was sleep.

Rhiannon and Micha had already settled in a bed and David climbed into Ianto's lap for a cuddle, Jack smiling softly at the little man.

Tosh and Owen were quietly putting a meal together and it seemed domestic somehow.

When Lloyd and Junior returned from outside, Gwen had moved and was now snuggled up on the mattress, still with the towels around her. Lloyd and Junior decided to share the couch.

They all lay down and worried about what tomorrow would bring. Ianto remembered something that was on his friend's coffee mug from work.

It stated: _The struggle you're in today, is developing the strength for tomorrow_.

"Good night, people," whispered Lloyd. "Here's to a better tomorrow."

Nobody responded, and the owner of The White Horse pub turned on his side and closed his eyes.

It was time to rest.

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I am leaving it here as noone seems to be invested in this and it is a good ending. Thanks for reading, anyone that did.


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